Beyond Here Lies Nothing
by amourdesoi
Summary: She's a runaway whore, which isn't too uncommon - but it's not often that they dress as a boy and escape to the Wall. Worrying about surviving the Night's Watch and keeping her true gender a secret is hard enough ... and then, she meets Jon Snow. Jon/OC.
1. one

A/N: I've had an insatiable urge to write something for this series, and I love Jon Snow's character, so this came out. I hope the idea isn't too stereotypical for you, and I'm sure I've probably gotten some things wrong - so bear with me if I get some things wrong and please let me know so I can fix it. :)

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><p><strong>beyond here lies nothing<strong>

_chapter one_

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><p>"If that were a real sword, you'd be dead."<p>

Iliya can't help but cringe as she observes the fight that everyone else is watching, though she doesn't disagree with the notion of Grenn's nose spewing blood. She's never seen the other man in the ring before, but she's heard of his arrival. Jon Snow, Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son. Not that she cares he's a bastard – she is one herself, after all, straight from King's Landing – but it's what everyone else is calling him. It's what most everyone calls her as well, and she guesses her being here only a week does not help her any.

"Lord Snow, here," Ser Alliser says with that mocking tone she cannot stand, "Grew up in the castle, spitting down on the likes of you." Those cold eyes roam the group of shivering men. "Pyp," He calls, "Do you think Ned Stark's bastard bleeds like the rest of us?"

It's clearly a command to get in the makeshift ring and find out if he does, so the lanky youth with large ears swallows and steps up. Pyp ends up slashing the air, and with one swift movement, he's knocked down by Jon Snow.

"Next!" Ser Alliser's voice booms out, and Iliya steps up. "Ah, the pretty bastard against the noble one," He chuckles condescendingly. Iliya forces herself to ignore it.

She steels herself as she faces Snow, because it's obvious he hasn't gone easy on anyone else – and the fact that she's a girl does naught to help, seeing as no one but her is aware of that fact. He really isn't that tall, compared to some of the men, but he's still got height on her. Even under his thick clothes and his training armor, she can tell he's got muscle she can't hope to have.

Iliya raises her sword and dashes in with a wide swipe, but afterwards she's left wide open. Snow takes this opportunity to jab her in the gut with the hilt of his sword. She grunts at the force of it and spits up some blood as she tumbles backward, and for what won't be the last time in her life, curses her small stature. One by one, more recruits go forward and all end up the same way. That he defeats everyone else just as easily makes her feel a little bit better.

"Well, Lord Snow, it appears you're the least useless person here." Ser Alliser turns to the rest of them as Snow gives him a stony glare then storms away. "Go clean yourselves up! There's only so much I can stomach in a day."

Muscles aching from all the previous training they'd done earlier, she forces her legs to take her in the armoury. She wishes she could take a nice, hot bath after this, but to do that would ruin her cover. Instead, she takes them late at night when she's sure everyone is asleep. This isn't a tried and true method, but it's worked for her so far.

Jon Snow is the only other person in the armoury when she walks in, and he only throws her a glance over his shoulder before dismantling the armor and laying it on the rack. Going up next to him, she begins to do the same.

"You're quite good," She tells him in the deepest pitch she can, but she still manages to sound like a little boy. He stops stripping himself of armor to turn and look at her.

It still unnerves her to be stared at so closely when she feels she still looks like a girl – but then she reminds herself that her hair is only a bit longer than Jon Snow's, shaggy and mousy brown. The sweat on her face and bags under her eyes don't do much to save a feminine appearance, despite that she's definitely more gentle to look upon than the others, and she forces herself to relax.

He still hasn't said anything, so she says, "You shouldn't let Ser Alliser bother you. I'm a bastard, too, and he doesn't let me forget it, either."

Snow looks down at the armor and takes off the remaining pieces before turning towards her again. "Jon Snow."

"I'm aware," Iliya says, then smiles to let him know she isn't mocking him. "Ily Waters."

She slides her sword into a spot on the rack. Her name is enough to tell him that she's a fellow bastard, though all he does is nod. He seems like he's about to ask her something when there's a voice from behind them.

"Oh, look! The two bastards are befriending each other." Rast, Grenn, and Pyp stand behind them, though it's Rast who has spoken.

"Broke my nose, bastard." Grenn states, and Pyp closes the two doors behind them.

Silence reigns over the armoury as Snow puts the last of his equipment away, and she can't help the nervous look that comes over her face. She's been in this position one too many times, often with the three of them, and knows how ugly it can become. Snow turns to look at Grenn's still bloody face, cocking his head slightly.

"It's an improvement." Suddenly, all of them rush forward and grab him, and there's a knife up to Snow's throat.

"Stop this!" She yells, and jumps on Rast to try to wrestle his grip off of Snow.

"This doesn't involve you, pretty boy," He spits. Rast bats her off easily, as if swatting away an annoying fly, and she can't help the girlish cry that escapes her as her head bashes against the corner of one of the tables.

The world swirls a bit, and she can hear muffled threats uttered before she forces herself to shake it off and gets to her feet. Lifting a hand to her head, it feels warm and wet. Her fingers come away red. The door creaks open, and she's almost afraid it will be someone looking to join in – but it's Tyrion Lannister. The Imp; she's lived in King's Landing her whole life up until coming to the Wall, so she recognizes him.

"What are you looking at, halfman?"

It's apparent none of them do, however, and she can see anger flash in the dwarf's eyes. Iliya's heard enough talk about Tyrion Lannister, heard about his wit and clever tongue, and anxiously anticipates whatever he's about to say.

"I'm looking at you," The Lannister tells him, voice calm. "You've got an interesting face." All three bullies look at each other confusedly before he goes on. "Mm, very distinctive faces. All of you."

"And what do you care about our faces?" Rast challenges.

"It's just – I think they'd look marvelous decorating spikes in King's Landing." He leans against the doorway and declares nonchalantly, "I think I'll write to my sister, the Queen, about it." Immediately, those magic words split them up, and she faintly hears Grenn mumbling to Snow before he too goes to the side.

"Everybody knew what this place was," Snow says to the Imp, a troubled look on his face. "But no one told me. No one but you." He looks to the window. "My father knew, and he left me to rot at the Wall all the same."

"Grenn's father left him, too. Outside a farmhouse when he was three. Pyp was caught stealing a wheel of cheese. His little sister hadn't eaten in three days." Tyrion's green eyes make their way to her. "I'm afraid I don't know his story, however."

She faces the floor. Tyrion Lannister is a smart one, and it honestly wouldn't surprise her if he caught on to her guise. Iliya shoots a glance at Snow to find he's already looking at her, too, and quickly strides back outside.

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><p>"You didn't have to do that, you know."<p>

The voice startles her, and she spins around on the pebble strewn iced walkway, almost losing her footing. "Didn't anyone ever tell you about sneaking up on people, Snow?" Iliya yelps, and it comes out too high for her liking.

She isn't terribly afraid of heights, but in the little outlet that faces beyond the Wall, she doesn't exactly want to slip and plummet that far down. He doesn't acknowledge her question; instead, he looks at the bandages haphazardly wrapped around her head. They're spotted with blood, and her hand reaches up to them somewhat self-consciously from his stare.

"Is your head hurt too badly?"

"It's fine. You needn't worry about me, Snow." Iliya reassures him - which isn't too convincing, since she's the one with a head injury - then turns back to the fire and continues warming her hands above it, surveying the vast forests laid out before her.

"And you needn't worry about me, either," He replies, his voice closer. Soon, he too has his hands over the fire. "But ... thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, Snow. It was the right thing to do, wasn't it?" Iliya glances up at him, and Jon smiles a little. She likes the way it still seems to reach his eyes, even if it is tiny.

"Jon."

Iliya furrows her brows. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to offend you by..." By calling him by his bastard surname is what she means to say, but she gets the feeling he already knows what she's talking about.

"It's alright."

She nods and goes back to gazing at the landscape in silence. It isn't that she particularly minds his presence, but she's still worried her voice will revert back to its high pitch if she gets too comfortable. They stand like that for a minute or two before he breaks the quiet.

"Why did you come to the Wall?" Jon asks.

But Iliya can't quite tell him she ran away from a brothel and her job as a whore, so she tells him what she's been telling everyone else.

"No one wanted to take care of a bastard. Not even my mother." That itself isn't a lie. "I was a thief. I had to live somehow." He's quiet, listening.

"When Yoren came to King's Landing for recruits, I didn't think it would be so bad. A roof over my head, food to eat. Though some of our so called brothers can be … unsavory, it's better than waking up everyday, wondering where you'll sleep later that night, or if you'll even eat," She finishes, "My story is not special, no more than anyone else's."

That's sort of true as well, except Iliya's fairly certain she's the only girl who's ever tried or wanted to disguise herself as a boy and join the Night's Watch.

"That may be true," Jon joins her in looking out into the darkness beyond the Wall. "But it also isn't any less so than anyone else's, either."

Surprised by his words, she peers at him discreetly as a smile creeps up on her face.

Wondering if this is considered to be making a friend, Iliya laughs a bit and whispers, "I suppose you're right."

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><p>AN: Good? Want-to-gouge-your-eyes-out-terrible? Please let me know, I always appreciate any kind of feedback, especially if it will help make the story better. Like I said, please correct me if I've gotten something wrong (and I hope I can manage to keep everyone in character).

Sorry for the shortness of this chapter - if people want me to continue, I'll do my best to make the chapters more lengthy. So if ya'll like this, please let me know - if no one is really interested, I suppose I'll just let it rot with all the rest of my unfinished stories...

Thanks for reading, and please review. :)


	2. two

A/N: Thank you for the reviews. :) I hope you all like this chapter.

I'm trying my best to match up the timeline, so I'm sorry if something doesn't match up. Also, I hope Jon is IC - and a little more of Iliya's character comes through in this chapter.

Again, if I get anything wrong, feel free to correct me!

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><p><strong>beyond here lies nothing<strong>

_chapter two_

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><p>"Can't get up, pretty bastard?"<p>

Iliya grits her teeth and tries to mentally block out Rast's taunts and the hooting from all the spectating recruits. She stabs her training sword into the ground to the best of her ability to try and gain some leverage to pull herself up, but her arms ache and wobble, and her legs won't hold. Laughter grows around her as she falls onto her back.

"Should've been born a girl, he's so weak!" That's because I _am_ one, she thinks bitterly.

It's only early morning, so she's glad that not all of the recruits are up to see this embarrassing fight. Though Jon Snow seems to have won over the respect of some of them, she's yet to accomplish that. At this rate, Iliya thinks, it's a long way from happening.

"Do you yield?" Rast asks, and Iliya wants nothing more than to swipe the smug smirk off of his face. She's landed a few hits on him, enough to make him pant, but he is not nearly as affected as she is.

Taking a deep breath, she musters all of the strength in her body and manages to stand. She readies her sword at the same time, thinking that she wishes she wasn't so proud – she has nothing to be proud of, and certainly no battle prowess to speak of. She can only be grateful Ser Alliser's busying himself belittling another group of recruits, or else there's no doubt her humiliation would be ten times worse.

She charges at Rast, her sword clutched in both hands. Unfortunately, her movements are too sluggish and he quickly ducks, spinning around her – pain blossoms in her back, and she bends at the waist from the brunt of it. He takes the opportunity to knee her in the head while it's down, and she is immediately sent sprawling on her back again. Snow lands softly on her face, already starting to melt from the heat of her skin and the sweat she's worked up.

He has managed to hit the exact same spot she's hit her head a few days ago, and while it's felt alright before this, there's a new, painful thrumming from the wound. For a split second, she thinks of how terribly moronic it was for her to run away from King's Landing – stupid, stupid - she's a girl, after all.

Her body is skinny and weak, and though she has her pride, pride means nothing at the Wall. She's been beaten everyday, only having won against recruits that somehow managed to be more feeble than she is.

She is a girl of only seventeen years against brutes; rapers, killers, and vagabonds. There's no way she'll ever survive to take her vows, she thinks.

But memories and instances from the brothel hit her as soon as she thinks that. Waking up to dread the day that has yet to unfold, going to bed crying like a weakling while the other women told her to get used to it. And at these thoughts, her eyes, half mast and dulling a bit from her soreness, snap open. You knew you weren't strong, Iliya, she tells herself. And that is why you came here; to be strong. To be nobody's bedwarmer, nobody's pet – to be looked at, not as quick pleasure and by low status, but as an equal worthy of respect.

"Yield! Admit it, bastard."

And to be an equal, Iliya reminds herself, she needs to start by getting up.

"You've lost this-" He doesn't get a chance to finish his words when she darts up with strength spurred on from those horrid memories, and she swipes at his legs with both hands on her sword.

Satisfaction fills her as he falls from the unexpected hit, and she can feel her sudden spurt of power starting to fade. Iliya can feel herself falling, and so as a last effort, falls onto him, slamming the hilt of her sword into his groin with all of her weight behind it. Her elbow strikes him right in the gut at the same time, and spittle flies onto her cheek as he lets out an anguished grunt.

She feels him struggling to get up and roll her off, but she is beyond the point of caring if she plays dirty, and so Iliya repeatedly hits him in the groin with the last vestiges of her strength. She can hear all the men around her moaning in pain just at the sight. His body fails him and he falls down the few inches he's raised his body up, and she crawls up his body to face him, elbow hitting him again.

"Do _you _yield?" Iliya asks mockingly.

Rast lifts his head to growl at her, but it falls back on the ground as he grunts. "I … yield." He spits out.

The watching recruits mutter amongst themselves before dispersing, and she rolls herself off of Rast to take in a deep breath of the cool air. She wipes his spit off of her cheek with a shaky hand, closes her eyes, and allows herself a tired smile in the light of this small victory. She can hear Rast muttering angrily as he finally pulls himself up and stalks off.

"I believe you've surprised even me, Ily."

Wearily, a smile still on her face, she opens her eyes to see Jon Snow looking down at her. He leans down a bit and offers a hand, and though she doesn't want to have to take it, she feels like there's no chance she'll get up any time soon if she doesn't. Iliya hopes he doesn't notice the immense size difference in their hands as he pulls her up, and she dusts herself off before nodding at him.

"I've surprised myself, I think." She wipes the sweat off her brow and brushes her bangs back, relishing the cool breeze that sweeps through her hair. "I'm afraid I've exhausted myself too early in the day, however." She chuckles a little, but Jon's looking at the snow on the ground.

"Your injury seems to have reopened," He points out, and she looks down. Bright crimson splotches stand out on the thin layer of accumulating snow from where she's fallen down. She sighs.

"I'll have to see Maester Aemon about that one," Iliya shrugs, trying to come off as if she doesn't care about the blood starting to drip down the back of her neck. She'll have to ask for extra bandages, she reminds herself, to be able to get fresh clean ones to bind her chest.

"Do they treat you like that all the time?"

He's been here for a few days, and though they share words and eat their meals together, there are times when he isn't present. It's those times that she is ganged up on; the other recruits had quickly learned that if Stark's bastard was around, any of their so-called games would be put to a swift end. His brown eyes look intently into hers, and suddenly she wants to look anywhere but him.

"Not often..." She replies unconvincingly, and he raises a brow at her when she looks at him again. "Alright. Often." She leans down and picks up her sword. "Let them. It'll only make me stronger." That she says with certainty, and he smiles in that little way of his.

"Of course."

She leaves it at that and spins on her heel to find Maester Aemon while Ser Alliser is still distracted, but he throws an offer towards her retreating back. "I could teach you some techniques, if you wish. I've helped out some of the-"

Jon looks a bit surprised when she turns around, and she realizes it's because of the glare that's snuck up to her eyes. "I don't need your help, Jon Snow," Iliya's pride says for her. "I can get strong all on my own."

She can do this all by herself – no, she doesn't need his help. She beat Rast, didn't she? It was just one small step that lead to many more, but it was a step nontheless. She has gotten a little stronger already today, she thinks. Her brown eyes narrow at him.

"I can do this by myself." Iliya turns around again for the stairs. "You'll see."

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><p>Frowning, Iliya damns her ego as she rides to the top of the Wall in the cage. It was obvious she had obviously offended him, or hurt his feelings in some sort of way. For the rest of training yesterday, after she'd gotten more bandages from Maester Aemon, he hadn't even looked at her.<p>

The same had gone for their evening meal – they had started sitting together in amiable silence and small chatter. Tonight, however, he had sat with Grenn and Pyp, and she sat next to men that gave her dirty looks and made snide comments. Though he looked over at hearing said insults, he would just turn around and let them.

There was also the fact that they both slept in different cells in Hardin's Tower, on the same level. They were the only ones, since the other men were frightened of his direwolf companion, Ghost. She herself had chosen that specific tower for the reason that she would be alone, and less likely to be discovered to be a girl. They would come face to face whether it was mealtime, training, or to retire for the night.

When today had been the same, she had started regretting her words from the previous day, realizing how uncomfortable it would become, at least for her. But that's what she had said she wanted earlier, that she didn't need anyone's help, so why should he try? Iliya had brought on his cold treatment all by herself.

On the way up, she tries to tell herself that he's a grown man, or close enough, and he should be able to handle some harsh words. Contrary to that thought, she feels incredibly guilty about it; Jon had been nothing but kind to her – the only one out of everyone there - and had only offered to help her make her stay at the Wall a little more bearable. Iliya takes in a deep breath as the cage rocks once it reaches the top, unlatching the iron bars and striding out.

Ser Alliser had a fondness for putting Jon up on the Wall as a watch, so she hopes he is here tonight as well. She pulls her cloak closer around her, pulling the thick fur hood over head as she starts to search for him. Iliya finds him some ten minutes later, standing next to a fire. His direwolf, Ghost, is sitting next to him, and notices her first.

Jon only notices her standing there once Ghost approaches her, and after she offers a hand for him to sniff and takes her hood down, the albino direwolf retreats back to his spot next to his master. Jon glances at her before looking away.

"It's ... especially chilly tonight, isn't it?" Iliya asks awkwardly, taking a step closer.

"It's especially chilly every night in the North," Jon replies, still not looking at her. A few minutes of pregnant quiet permeate the air, the crackling of the fire being the only noise.

Her mouth twists into another frown, and she tries to spit out the words that feel stuck in her throat. "I am sorry," Iliya blurts out, taking another step forward and putting a hand on his shoulder to get his full attention, and he turns to look at her. "Truly." She bites her lip. "I have too much pride in me at times, for no good reason."

His brown eyes search her own lighter brown ones as if to try and decipher whether she was being honest or not. Jon looks into the fire. "My Uncle Benjen left yesterday. I told him that I was ready to join him beyond the Wall."

Iliya doesn't know where this is leading, but she remains silent and listens as he continues. "I said that I was better than everyone else here." Jon pauses. "My pride gets the best of me at times, as well," He admits, and something like a grimace mixed with a smile crosses his face. "There is nothing to be forgiven, Ily." With that, he looks away from her and back into the night.

"Still, I ..." Iliya swallows and focuses her attention on Ghost, a bit embarrassed by what she's about to say. "I would not mind so much if you could teach me. In fact, I would be ever so grateful if … if you could show me how to become a better fighter."

Her cheeks flush, and she lifts her hood up once more, hoping the shadows it casts on her face will hide the redness. As an afterthought, she adds, "If - if you are still willing, that is."

His grimace melts away, leaving only his smile. Again, she notices how he seems to smile with his whole face, taking note of the tiny creases that appear at the corners of his eyes. Something warm flutters around in her stomach, but Iliya just tells herself that the stew she supped on was probably just not cooked properly. Perhaps she's falling ill.

"We'll start tomorrow." Jon says.

The pleasant, companionable silence returns. Iliya thinks to herself how strange it is that, for only having it a few days and being without it for less than one, she had already started to miss it.

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><p>AN: Yeah, so ... Iliya's a proud one, even though she really sucks at fighting. And there was a tiny, tiny bit of past revealed... like, tiny, tiny.

Please, please review. I really want to know what you readers think of Iliya's character so far, and if I'm (hopefully) keeping Jon IC.

I'd also like to know what you think of the pace of their relationship. Too slow? Too fast? Let me know! Reviews inspire me to write faster, and I at least know people are reading and have thoughts or opinions on it. I don't even mind if it's nothing but a "It's good", because every review helps.

So... yeah, please review, and thank you for reading! :)


	3. three

A/N: Wow, thanks for the reviews, all of you. :)

**lovelynsweetsam1**: Wah, you kill me with your flattery! ... but,, like, in a good way!

**Terez**: Thanks! I hope this doesn't count as too long.

**JJ**: I'm glad you agree with the pace, I always worry about that sort of thing. And as far as Iliya's lack of skills, I felt it was more realistic that way than having her automatically know how to whoop ass... so I'm happy you like that and are enjoying this!

**ruthie-r89**: Thanks, I'm thrilled you like Iliya!

**Maddy**: I figured sticking with the dialogue would be a somewhat needed touch, since it is going with that timeline or whatnot... so thank goodness you think it works. And I didn't really want to just throw all of Iliya's personality out there in the very first two chapters, I think it's better to just get to know her as it goes along. :)

**PhoenixRage92**: I agree with the preference towards a well paced romance, and that's what I'm trying to do - and if I can fit Tyrion in, I will, but unfortunately that seems very unlikely since they're at the Wall. D:

**StrawberriCat**: Thanks, that's the kind of response I'm trying to get for her character! I'm glad you like it.

**Nero**: Wow, thanks very much, here's your more. :)

Here is chapter three - not much is really happening, I guess, but I'm probably going to up the ante (so to speak) in the next chapter... so I hope you enjoy this, and look forward to the next one.

Hope everyone is IC and that you all continue to like Iliya.

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><p><strong>beyond here lies nothing<strong>

_chapter three_

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><p>Jon has stuck to his word, and Iliya is slowly getting better.<p>

And with the inching progress of her fighting skills, relations with some of the other recruits are getting better as well. It's no secret to her, however, that it is all Jon's doing. Even though it chafes with her pride to have someone else fight a battle that should be hers, she's vowed to try her best to bite her tongue because she knows Jon only does these things because they've become friends. At least, that is what she proposes they are by now.

They train during the day, and even at night when they're both free from watch duty. Though they don't have much room in their cells, they still find enough space to practice – even though the first time they had started fighting in his cell, Ghost had begun to growl at her, stopping only at Jon's commands. The training at night makes her even more tired than ever, though, and she finds that it is getting harder and harder to get herself up in the morning, much less wait until Jon is asleep to take a bath.

Iliya wipes some sweat off of her brow, sliding down the wall in Jon's cell to sit on the floor. They've just finished training, and she thinks that she could fall asleep on the cold stone floor without any problem. Jon, she can't help but notice, has not even broken a sweat, and this spurs her on.

"Just a few more minutes, Jon. Give me a few more minutes and then we can go for another-"

"Ily," He cuts her off, "We've practiced enough for one day. You've been making good progress," Jon takes in her appearance, "And you've also been looking even more tired these past few days."

"I can sleep when I'm dead." She waves him off, wincing a bit at the ache in her muscles as she stands up.

"Tomorrow, Ily." Iliya frowns, looking up at him. There's a look of light concern on his face, with his wrinkled brows and those deep brown eyes that are imploring her to go rest. Her frown disappears with a sigh.

"Tomorrow, then." She pats Ghost on the head on her way out, nodding her head at Jon. "Goodnight." Jon returns the sentiment, and she closes the door behind her and makes her way to her cell.

Thankfully, it isn't far. All of the other rooms in the tower are near dilapidated, and she only has to walk a small length of hallway before she reaches her own room. She doesn't even bother to light any of the torches or oil lanterns. Iliya undresses quickly, taking off the cloth that binds her chest with a sigh of relief and new found comfort. Throwing on a nightshirt, she begins stumbling to her bed and practically falls on it.

I'll bathe early tomorrow morning, she thinks, before anyone gets up. A small part of her knows this won't happen, since _early tomorrow morning_ is naught but a few hours away. Iliya blindly grasps for the blanket, pulling it over her body before sleep claims her.

She dreams of King's Landing – of the brothel, of catty women and _that man_, of the stench of sex and soiled sheets she's felt too numb to get up from.

* * *

><p>"... up ..."<p>

A faraway voice enters the throes of her slowly waking sleep, and she lets out an unintelligible mumble before tossing her head on the pillow.

"... wake up. Ily, you have to wake up."

There's a soft nudging at her shoulder that gradually gets harder and again she mutters incoherently before opening her drowsy eyes. Those dreams again, she thinks. Another nudge, and the sleep snaps out of her once she realizes _Jon Snow_ is in her room and her chest isn't binded and she remembers she's wearing nothing but smallclothes on her lower body, with her clearly feminine legs on display-

"Jon!" She shrieks, surprise making her forget to disguise her voice. Thankfully, when she grabs at the blanket that, in her sleepy mind, she is not sure is there or not – it is there. It is there, and he cannot see her unbound chest or her legs, but she still pulls it up to her chin regardless.

"We're about to break fast, and I noticed you still were not up yet. You'll need your strength."

"R-right," She stutters, her heart still racing. "I'll be down shortly."

The only good thing that has come out of this was that Jon had not caught onto her and she is no longer tired anymore. She holds the blanket with a death grip, watching him walk to the door. Before leaving, he chuckles and turns to her.

"One last thing."

"What?" She asks crankily, eyeing him suspiciously.

"You scream like a girl, Ily."

With a carefully deepened yell, she throws her lumpy pillow at his laughing face. It only manages to hit the door, and after he's gone, Iliya can only slap a hand over her heart and her face, groaning.

After readying herself for the day and promising herself she'll bathe later, she makes her way down the tower to eat in the hall. She takes a seat next to Jon, who is sitting next to Grenn and Pyp; she's still wary around them, but they're congenial enough for her to start to relax around them.

Their mealtime is filled with small conversation and the racket of the other men. When they're almost done, Jon clears his throat in a loud sort of way, and she looks up at him from the chunky mess of her bowl. He's staring at Grenn and Pyp with a slightly raised brow, and her own brows wrinkle.

"Ily," Pyp gets her attention, "Me and Grenn, well-" He looks to Jon, which makes her look at him again as well. "We're, ah … sorry. For the way we treated you, and all," Pyp finishes hurriedly.

She glances at Jon, who is seemingly _ever_ so interested in his own food. She isn't stupid, and as much as she wants to berate him, she doesn't. "It's alright," She tells the two of them sitting across from her. She does, however, kick Jon under the table, but he doesn't wince or show any sign of discomfort, and she feels a bit unsatisfied.

"Grenn would apologize," Pyp adds, "But his little mind probably doesn't even know what that means." Soon, Grenn and Pyp are bickering at each other, and she crosses her arms and looks at Jon with pursed lips.

"What is it, Ily?"

"Jon..." She starts, then remembers her vow to hold her tongue at his ways. One look at the innocent look on his face, and she just jabs her spoon back in her bowl. "Oh, never you mind."

* * *

><p>Iliya leans on her sword as she watches Jon tutor Grenn. He truly is a good teacher, she thinks, and she cannot help herself from admiring how his movements seem to flow, even when slowed down so Grenn can grasp the concept.<p>

"Left foot forward. Good. Now, pivot as you deliver the stroke. Put all your weight behind it."

Grenn begins to do as he was directed, but something beyond them catches his eye and he straightens up, squinting. "What in seven Hells is that?"

At that, they all look to see Ser Alliser striding over, but it is obviously the man toddling awkwardly next to him that was the cause of Grenn's exclamation. He is huge, but not with muscles, and she sees both nervousness and fear in his eyes as they approach. She can hear Grenn and Pyp making japes at his size, but she and Jon remain silent.

"Tell them your name." Ser Alliser commands. The man takes in a deep breath, swallowing.

"Samwell Tarly, of Hornhill. I mean, I was of Hornhill, but I've come to take the Black."

"Come to take the black pudding?" Rast snipes, and Grenn and Pyp laugh along with him.

"You couldn't be any worse than you look," Alliser says once the laughter quiets down. He looks down at Samwell, then to Rast. "Rast, see what he can do."

Rast steps into the ring, and Iliya isn't sure what to make of the almost intimidating look on the bigger man's face, when Rast strikes. Yelps fly out of Samwell's mouth, his thick hands going up to shield himself from the blows. In a matter of seconds, he is down on the ground.

"I yield! Please, no more!" His eyes are squinted shut, and Iliya feels her gut twist in pity at the sight of him. With one look at Jon, she knows he feels the same way.

"On your feet, pick up your sword." Ser Alliser, however, has no room for pity in the heart Iliya doesn't think he has, and tells Rast to keep hitting him.

Iliya frowns at his cries and the brute blows Rast is dealing him, and Jon looks away. She wants to do something about it, but what is there she can do? Ser Alliser certainly isn't acknowledging the fact that the man is clearly not battle ready, and so she's sure the hits won't stop even if she does take action.

"Seems they've run short of poachers and thieves down south. Now they send us bloody squealing pigs!"

Jon steps up, but Pyp grabs his arm. With a frown deep set onto his face, he reluctantly steps back. "Again! Harder!" Ser Alliser yells.

Samwell is screeching his forfeit, when Jon cannot take anymore and starts towards them again.

"That's enough!" Everyone's eyes go to Jon. "He yielded." Roughly, he jerks the heavy man up – and seeing this, Iliya feels proud. For once, it is not for herself, but for her friend; what no one else will do, his goodness does for them. She has a fleeting thought that Jon must have a weakness for beaten pups.

"Looks like the bastard's in love," Ser Alliser smirks as Jon pushes the man back. "Alright then, Lord Snow. You wish to defend your lady love? Let's make it an exercise." He gestures to Grenn and Pyp with his hands. "You two – three of you ought to be sufficient to make Lady Piggy squeal. All you've got to do is get past the bastard."

Iliya steps up next to Jon. "_Bastards_, Ser Alliser," She says in a tone not unlike his own mocking one, but he just smiles wider.

"Right, then. Two bastards and a fat boy. This should be interesting to watch."

"You sure you want to do this?" Jon asks. Iliya readies her sword next to him.

"No," Grenn replies uncertainly, shaking his head.

Of course, Rast goes first. Jon blocks his blow before kneeing and pummeling him to the ground, and Iliya takes on Pyp. With the new skills she's learned from Jon, she's able to get him down as well, though with a lot more difficulty than Jon. Grenn is soon down as well, and Iliya starts towards Rast when she sees him about to hit Jon from behind him – but Jon swiftly beats him down once more before going towards Grenn.

"Yield, yield, yield! I yield!" Grenn throws his hands up.

Iliya straightens herself up as Ser Alliser tells them they're done for the day. "You two bastards, go clean the armoury. That's all you're good for," And walks away. Iliya huffs, glaring at his retreating back.

"Well fought," Pyp jokes, and Grenn tells him to piss off. Rast passes by her and Jon, giving them a look of disdain before Samwell spoke up from behind them.

"Did they hurt you?" He asks, then looks to Iliya. "Either of you?"

"We've had worse," Jon replies.

"You can call me Sam, if you want. My mother calls me Sam." He tells them. Jon only gives him a distressed look.

"It's not gonna get any easier, you know. You're gonna have to defend yourself," He admonishes him.

"That's the only way you'll survive around here," Iliya says to him, and though it's true, she hopes the softness of her voice makes up for the harshness of her words.

Grenn throws in, "Why didn't you get up and fight?"

"I wanted to," Sam's big eyes look at all of them, "I just couldn't."

"Why not?"

Sam sighs heavily before looking down at his feet. "I'm a coward. My father always said so."

They share a glance. They're both thinking the same thing – he's soft not only of flesh, but in demeanor, and Iliya both feels her heart goes out to him and wonders why someone like him would join the Night's Watch. She certainly was no expert when she came to the Wall, and had been scared herself, but had refused to lie there and take a beating when it was coming to her despite that.

"The Wall's no place for cowards."

"You're right. I'm sorry." Sam smiles, and there's something sad in it. "I just … wanted to thank you. Both of you." He looks Jon and Iliya in the eye, and she can tell that he means it. He waddles to his sword, picks it up, and limps away.

"A coward," Grenn spits, "You know, people saw us talking to him. Now they'll think we're cowards, too!"

"You're only a coward if you act like one, so hush up!" Iliya yells, not without some anger at their lack of sympathy.

"Ily's right. Besides, you're too stupid to be a coward!" Pyp remarks, and he makes some more jokes as Grenn starts to chase him around. She's left with Jon, who still has a frown on his face.

"You did good," She assures him, and gives him a smile. It doesn't do much to lift the heavy look on his face.

"Then why does it feel like I haven't made any difference?" He asks morosely, fingers tightening on the grip of his sword.

"You can't fight everybody's battles for them, Jon. You did what you could do. Is it not difference enough that you've saved him from a beating?"

"There will be more," He argues, looking her in the eye. "And then..."

"And then, Sam will have to learn to defend himself. Everyone here has to." But Iliya can tell by the worried look in his eye that her words have fallen on deaf ears, so she claps a hand on his shoulder. "Now, let's tend to the exciting task of cleaning the armoury, shall we?"

* * *

><p>AN: I hope you all liked it! Any mistakes? Let me know. :)

Please review and let me know what you think! I wonder if any of you can guess what I'm throwing in next chapter (totally not in the canon storyline, by the way). I'm interested to hear what you think, so let me hear it!

Thanks for reading!


	4. four

A/N: Sooooo... thanks for reviews, and the favorites, and the alerts, though I'd love it if you reviewed as well! ;)

**lovelynsweetsam1**: You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say those things! And I don't know how much longer this restraint will last... haha.

**ber1719**: I made this chapter longer, so I hope this spans good and long for you too! Thanks for reading and enjoying.

**PhoenixRage92**: Whew, okay. :) I haven't even thought of what I'll do once the timeline reaches the end of Season One. I'm almost done the second book and I don't want to spoil anything but... this will probably be a challenge!

**Megan**: I'm glad you think everyone's IC, and that you like Iliya! Thanks!

**TheFamouslyUnfamousAuthor**: She is quite determined and stubborn... thanks for reviewing!

**mellie**: Well, it will certainly be interesting. :)

So, I lied in my author note last chapter. Instead, I'm going to try to fit what I was planning into the next chapter. I think it'll flow better that way... also, this chapter has a short portion in Jon's POV, so I hope you all agree with the way I wrote him.

If anyone sees anything wrong, please correct me! Now, read and enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>beyond here lies nothing<strong>

_chapter four_

* * *

><p><strong><em>iliya<em>**

Iliya can't sleep.

She tosses and turns, fixes the thin blanket this way and that, fluffs the pillow; no matter how hard she tries, sleep will not claim her. She ends up staring at the ceiling with her arm laid over her forehead. Iliya knows that she should be exhausted, but she's still wide awake.

For a split second, the thought crosses her mind to head down the hall and see if Jon is willing to train – if he's even up - despite the lateness of the hour. He's on watch, though, she reminds herself. She tells herself she needs to stop depending on him so much.

But even though Iliya tells herself that, she still takes the effort to redress herself, chest bindings and all. She tugs on her boots and heavy, fur-trimmed cloak before heading out of the tower. Part of her isn't sure why she's doing this, going all the way up to the top of the Wall so late just to talk with him. The other part of her knows why.

_It's because you don't like being alone_, she thinks. A_nd you started getting used to it, even in just a week, being all alone in this old tower. _And then, Jon came. Jon came, and she had made her first friend since she was a child in King's Landing. Proud she may be, and proud she is – but as much as she acts like she needs no one, now the thing she has gotten used to is Jon being close by. The knowledge he is there gives her some sort of comfort, that she can rest safe.

Safe from what? Iliya wonders, but again, she knows. She knows exactly why. She also knows, or at least tries to convince herself that the _why_ is just a silly notion, because she's escaped from all that's happened in her past.

_He cannot hurt you anymore, Iliya. None of them can, _she scolds herself as the rickety cage almost arrives at the top. _Stop being such a child, because you are here and he is in King's Landing_ – and even if he _was_ here, what is there that Jon Snow can do? What can he do to make her feel safe? There is no answer she can concieve to that question.

Jon Snow only knows Ily - not Iliya, the girl she truly is underneath. She unlatches the cage door and steps out on the frozen pathway, looking around.

And besides, she thinks, everything is - _should_ be forgotten once you join the Night's Watch – everything washed away but the ever constant shade of black she will soon swear her life to - but the task of forgetting is more difficult than it would seem to be.

She's brought out of her mullings by the sound of Jon's laughter coming from one of the open alcoves. The low, cheery bellows inadvertently make her smile without her even realizing it. She stands there, alone, and listens to them talking before she figures she would be interrupting. Iliya thinks about how she'd look to them – to Jon, who she had once told she didn't need him or anyone - standing here like a dolt, like a scared child gone to look for his parent.

Even if she's let his help in, she doesn't want him to think she needs him all the time. She would feel so very pathetic if he ever did think that, so she turns her feet around.

_How silly you are, Iliya. _

More peals of laughter ring through the freezing air, and she makes her way back to the cage.

* * *

><p>Iliya's already eating her morning meal with Grenn and Pyp when Jon arrives.<p>

"Morning, Jon," She says. He returns the greeting and she finds she has to force her eyes from lingering on him as he takes off his cloak and lays it on the bench. _You're just happy to see him, is all. _Grenn and Pyp – she supposes she can call them friends now, too, but they just aren't the same to her as Jon is.

"Where've you been?" Grenn questions.

"Watch duty." He takes a seat next to Iliya and begins to take off his gloves. "With Sam."

"Ah, Prince Porkchop!" Pyp laughs, either ignoring or not noticing the look she shoots him.

"Where is Sam?" Iliya asks, glancing at the door. It saddens her somewhat to think that she would have known if he had come in from the jeers and hoots that were sure to resound in the room.

"He wasn't hungry."

"Impossible!" Pyp exclaims, laughing, and Grenn joins in too.

"That's enough." Jon says seriously, and she gets the same swell in her heart as when he first stood up for Sam.

The two sitting across from them stare at Jon as he grabs a bowl and piles some food in it. "Close your mouths before bugs fly in," Iliya says, gesturing at their faces with her bread before rolling her eyes.

"Sam's no different from the rest of us." Jon says, "There was no place for him in the world, so he's come here."

_No place in the world?_ Iliya used to have a place, she thinks, but she never did fit in with the giggling whores and grubby men. She supposes he's right.

Jon's dark brown eyes look over Grenn and Pyp. "You're not going to hurt him in the training yard anymore. Never again, no matter what Thorne says. He's our brother now, and we're going to protect him."

"You are in love, Lord Snow!" Comes a rough voice. They turn around to see Rast leaning towards them on the next table over. "You girls can do as you please, but if Thorne puts me up against Lady Piggy, I'm gonna slice me off a side of bacon."

"Right," Iliya sneers, her slightly stale bread crumbling in her tightening fist. "Now, will this be before or after I knock your teeth out, stick 'em in your porridge, and make you eat it? I'd prefer before, so you can have them with this side of bacon you're going on about."

"You'd best watch your own mouth, pretty bastard." Rast warns her.

Iliya isn't sure if she's actually possible of knocking out Rast's teeth – but she's beaten him once. She can do it again, her confidence whispers. Besides that, it rubs her the wrong way that he would mock Jon, and even poor Sam who can't fight worth a damn. Jon only gives him a dark stare before he turns back around.

"Where is he now? Sam." Iliya asks.

Jon tells her he's helping the Maester with feeding the ravens, then he tilts his head at her. "Why?"

Iliya turns to him, her light brown eyes looking into his. "You were the only one who was kind to me when I came here." She grabs her black cloak and hefts it on. "I simply think Sam needs twice that." She grabs a bowl and fills it up, then leaves.

She finds Sam right where Jon told her she would. "Master Aemon," She nods at the ancient man, even though he can't see it.

"Have you come for more bandages, Ily?" He croaks.

"Not today. I just had to talk with Samwell, if you wouldn't mind. I'll help feed the ravens," She offers, and Maester Aemon gives her a nod.

Further down along the rows of cages holding the dark, squawking birds, Sam's throwing in bloody meat to them. "Sam?"

He looks over at her, blinking. "O-oh, Ily, right?"

She nods and smiles. "That's right." Iliya goes a little closer, holding up the bowl. "You weren't down to eat. I'm afraid it's gone cold by now, though. I can take over for you, if you'd like."

Iliya practically shoves the bowl at him before taking the tin bucket in hand. She doesn't know what it was like to have some sort of maternal instinct, but she's sure it feels something like this. Sam's looking from her to the bowl, then back to her again.

"I'm ... not all that hungry, actually."

Right after he says that, his stomach growls so loudly that not even the blustery winds can cover it up. She raises a brow, still throwing the meat into the cages.

"If this is a trick of some sort," He starts, and she snaps her head around to face him. "W-well... I'm sure you'll get to see enough of my humiliation in the ring," He mumbles awkwardly.

"Please refrain from lumping me in with those buffoons, Sam." She sighs, "If you're hungry, then you should eat. To hell with what Rast and the rest of those idiots have to say."

He looks at her uncertainly before he starts fervently eating. "He told me you were good. Jon, that is." He shovels some more bread in his mouth.

"Did he now?"

Swallowing, he nods. "He said that it may not seem like it at first, but your intentions are good, even if you can be stubborn and proud-" He seems to realize what he has said and looks down at his now empty bowl. "Er, I mean..."

"It's alright, Sam." In spite of herself, she chuckles. "Jon's probably right."

"Either way," He smiles at her, his pudgy cheeks lifting as he looks at her earnestly. "Thanks, Ily."

* * *

><p><strong><em>jon<em>**

There's a bit of time left before training starts, so Jon goes up to see how Ily and Sam are faring. In all honesty, he had not expected Ily to bring him food - from what he knew of him, his demeanor could seem very standoffish and cool at times. Jon still thinks that the warmest he has ever acted was when he first arrived, when Ily had introduced himself in the armoury.

They have yet to notice his approach, but he's close enough to hear the tail end of, "... intentions are good, even if you can be stubborn and proud – er, I mean..."

"It's alright, Sam," Ily laughs; it's a sound he's heard so little he could count it on one hand. "Jon's probably right."

"Either way, thanks, Ily." Sam says, before finally noticing Jon. "Hullo, Jon."

Ily turns around. Jon nods at him – he'll just pretend he hasn't heard a word. "I heard laughter. I hope you two haven't been having much fun without me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Ily says, starting back down the path to bring back the bucket.

When Ily passes him, he notices for the first time that though they've both been here for weeks, he has no facial hair at all, whereas Jon has dark stubble accumulating. He brushes it off; even though he and Ily are the same age, some people just grow differently.

Both he and Ily are free from watch duty that night, and as he expects, there's a knocking at the wooden door to his cell when it grows dark.

"Training?" Ily asks, but he's already shoving herself past him.

Jon laughs. "If there's one thing that can be said for you, you never give up."

Ily pats Ghost on the head. "There are far worse things that could be said about me."

About a half an hour into their practice, he can tell Ily's tiring. His movements are growing more sluggish, and Jon thinks about telling him to go rest, and that they can go again tomorrow – but he knows it's probably useless, so he keeps fighting.

At one point, Jon manages to knock Ily on the ground, but the smaller man manages to grab him as he goes down. Jon ends up falling with him, and Ily lets out a grunt as his weight forces the air out of him. He's about to get off of him when he notices the look on Ily's face.

His face is growing red beneath the faint sheen of sweat clinging to his face and bangs, large light brown eyes bigger than usual; and then, the strangest thing happens.

"Y-yield," He stutters hurriedly, his voice even higher than usual. Ily releases the sword from his grip and pushes Jon away. "I yield."

Ily's blushing, Jon realizes as he gets up. He's embarrassed, Jon tells himself. But what truly strikes him as odd is his hasty forfeit. Ily yielded before even trying to get back up. He had only seen him yield two or three times - normally, he would refuse to say it. And in those times, Ser Alliser, despite his sadistic streak, made the victor move on to a different opponent, likely because of boredom.

Jon holds out a hand to help Ily up, but he pushes himself up off the ground and does not even look at him. Instead of demanding Jon to continue after a small break as he usually would, he merely takes the sword and mumbles out a goodnight before quickly leaving. "Ily, wait," He calls out the door, "If I've offended you ..."

"Everything's fine, Jon," Ily says, not even stopping to face him.

"Tonight, we're-"

He means to tell him about how they are planning on taking care of Rast, but the only response he gets is a door slamming shut.

And take care of Rast they do, he and Grenn and Pyp – he's in the midst of returning to his cell with Ghost when he hears a faint noise. The direwolf's ears prick up, and the large white head faces down the hall, where Ily's room is. Then, he hears it; a strangled cry, in that high pitch that is undeniably Ily's. He doubts anyone has broken into Castle Black, but he still races down the hall, Ghost at his heels.

He pushes open the door to see Ily curled up and swaddled in blankets, head tossing. His gaze sweeps the room – no one is there. He looks back at Ily to see that there are tears making their way down his cheeks. Jon swallows and steps back.

Jon feels as if he's barging in on an intimate moment, with Ily lost in the throes of some sort of nightmare. He has a thought to wake him up, but he's already made Ily's pride suffer enough tonight. He can only imagine how he would react if Jon saw him crying.

He backs out of the door and shut the door as quietly as possible. Ghost's red eyes look up at him almost questioningly, head cocked. "Come, Ghost."

* * *

><p>The next morning during training, Jon watches with satisfaction when Rast only bats Sam's sword out of his hand.<p>

"Attack him!" Ser Alliser yells out. He gently swats him on the arm while Sam looks from Rast to his arm disbelievingly.

Ser Alliser grabs Rast and shoves him out of the ring. "You, get in there," he commands Grenn.

Grenn steps in. "Hit me," He whispers loudly to Sam, who looks at Jon for reassurance. He nods. "Go on, hit me!"

Sam strikes him and Grenn dramatically throws himself onto the ground, screaming. "Yield! Yield!"

Laughter erupts from around them; even Ily is laughing. Jon looks over at him, thinking of last night. Ily's expression from last night flashes through his mind – his face in mid-laugh looks nothing like it did then, with tear tracks and eyes shut tight.

Ser Alliser marches towards Sam and pushes him roughly to the side, grabbing Jon by the collar and gripping him close. Jon just stares unflinchingly back at him. "You think this is funny, do you?" He spits, then turns to the rest of them. "When you're out there, beyond the Wall, with the sun going down, do you want a man at your back? Or a snivelling boy?"

Everyone grows quiet after he leaves. Ily huffs. "What an arse."

* * *

><p><strong><em>iliya<em>**

"I know for a fact that some of the officers go to that brothel in Mole's Town," Sam says, scrubbing at the table. Thunder booms outside in the distance.

"I wouldn't doubt it," Jon replies.

"What of it?" Iliya asks, looking up at Sam briefly before continuing to brush the table.

"Well, don't you think it's a little bit unfair? Making us take our vows while they sneak out for a little … Sally on the side?"

"Sally on the side?" Both Jon and Iliya echo.

"It's silly, isn't it? We can't defend the Wall unless we're celibate? It's absurd!"

"I didn't think you'd be so upset about it."

"Why not?" Sam purses his lips, looking rather offended. "Because I'm fat?"

"No," Jon sighs, straightening up and looking at him.

"I like girls just as much as you do. They might not like me as much … I've never … been with one." He glances at Jon. "You've probably had hundreds."

"No. The same as you."

Even Iliya's head shoots up at his retort. Being surrounded by so many men, she's almost gotten rid of her already barely there interest in the opposite sex, what with the way they all act. But Jon Snow is a handsome man - she can at least admit that to herself - not to mention that he is a good man.

She knows he is a bastard just as she is, but he still has a noble father. She has no problem imagining the girls at Winterfell fawning over him; and likewise, she can visualize Jon treating them sweetly, winning more of them over.

Sam chuckles, shaking his head. "I find that hard to believe."

"I came very close once. I was alone in a room with a naked girl..."

"Didn't know where to put it?" Sam jokes.

"I know where to put it," Jon says darkly, giving Sam a look.

"Was she old and ugly?" Sam's grinning. Iliya stays silent, still scrubbing.

She almost doesn't want to hear this, especially after the night before. Almost. She had come very, very close to seeing how masculine Jon Snow really was - it had set her heart thumping within her chest, sent heat rushing to her cheeks. At that thought, the image of those lovely dark eyes and lips float across her mind, and she scrubs even harder. _This conversation certainly isn't helping, _she thinks.

Jon seats himself on the top of the table. "Young and gorgeous. A whore named Ros."

Iliya wonders if he'd think her gorgeous if she didn't try to act like a man - but she just curses mentally and banishes the thought.

"What color hair?"

"Red."

"Oh, I like red hair." Sam chuckled again, though there was a more perverted note to it this time. "And her, erm ..." He gestured to his chest with his hands.

"You don't want to know." A small smirk flits across Jon's face.

"That good?"

"Better."

"Oh, no." Sam taps the table with his finger. "So why, exactly, did you not make love to Ros with the perfect ..." Again, he motions to his chest.

"What's my name?"

"Jon Snow."

"And why's my surname Snow?"

"Because ... you're a bastard. From the North."

"I never met my mother. My father wouldn't even tell me her name." Jon says. "I don't know if she's living or dead. I don't know if she's a noblewoman, or a fisherman's wife, or a whore. So I sat there in the brothel as Ros took off her clothes, but I couldn't do it. Because all I could think was, what if I got her pregnant, and she had a child? Another bastard," He finishes, "Named Snow."

"It's not a good life for a child." He says, almost as an afterthought, before he starts scrubbing again.

A somber silence fills the room when Sam notices Iliya hasn't said a word since Jon spoke of his story. As an attempt to lighten the mood, he turns to her and asks, "What about you, Ily? Did you have any, ah, experiences?"

She freezes, her arm stopping its jerky movements. _More than any of you would think. _"No."

"Really?" Sam asks. "I thought girls liked the sweet looking faces." Iliya does not reply, but he pries again. "Why haven't you?"

Iliya looks up to see both of them looking at her, waiting. "I..." She pauses. "I almost did, once. Like you," She looks at Jon before staring down at the grains of the table.

"When I lived in King's Landing, I went to a brothel once. The girl they gave me was ..." She fumbles for what to say, but then the words start to pour out as if against her will, spiting herself.

"She was a virgin still. She cried the moment she saw me." Iliya bites her lip. "Being a whore at a brothel wasn't her choice. She wanted me to help her escape, to take her away somewhere. When I told her I couldn't, she cried even harder. I-" Her voice cracks a bit. "I couldn't do it."

That same silence falls over them again. She still remembers that night - the night when she lost her maidenhood to _him_. Oh, how she had begged and pleaded and cried her eyes out, hoping he would help her. But she had not known that man for what sort of person he was, had only seen a handsome exterior.

She had still believed the tales of handsome men saving damsels in distress, back then. There had been no gentle Jon Snow to softly refuse her like he did for that whore Ros - and even if there was, it would've made little difference. Out he would go, and the next would come in - it was a hard truth that she'd had to face.

"So... neither of you knew where to put it!" Sam declares.

She and Jon share a look before Jon throws the brush at the larger man, going around the table to hit him as Iliya tosses a handful of the cleaning powder across the table at Sam, laughing.

And then the door creaks opens and Ser Alliser walks in, surveying them with obvious disdain. "Enjoying yourselves? You look cold ..." They all begin mindlessly scrubbing again as Ser Alliser goes on about something or other - but Iliya isn't listening.

With the slight reprieve of laughter gone and Ser Alliser's voice droning in the background, she can only think about the crying whore in King's Landing from once upon a time.

* * *

><p>AN: So... I hope everyone liked this, and I hope some of the parts didn't seem stereotypical to you. Hopefully, I've continued to keep everyone in character...

So, let me know what you think. Hate it so far? Love it so far? Let it all out! Like I always say, if I've gotten anything wrong, please let me know!

Thanks for reading, please review! Reviews make me update faster, I swear. /bribe

So... please do. :)


	5. five

A/N: I can't thank you guys enough for these lovely reviews! Seriously, thank you so much!

This chapter is about two months later - I'm not precisely sure on how much time is supposed to be passing in the show, but for the sake of the story, let's pretend it's two months. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

(Should probably add this since I've forgotten...)

I don't own Game of Thrones, or ASOIAF.

* * *

><p><strong>beyond here lies nothing<strong>

_chapter five_

* * *

><p><em><strong>iliya<strong>_

There are many things that Iliya wishes she could change, but she thinks the one moment she rues the most is that one terrifying night of training with Jon Snow. The fact it's been two months since then does not ease that feeling.

It is not terrifying in the way that one would fear for their life, or be afraid of pain – no, for Iliya, it is frightening because it had made things _different._ She is starting to see him differently, not like she sees the other men. How she wishes she didn't; when she ran away from King's Landing, she had been perfectly content with the idea of never becoming intimate with another man, and she certainly had no intentions of developing these … _emotions_ that sometimes made her want to do exactly that.

And then there are the vows she will have to take – she may not be a brother in the physical sense, but it is something that is required of all of them. So even though these thoughts gnaw at her mind, she tells herself every day and every night and every time she sees him: _He will be my brother, soon. And now – now, Iliya is Ily, and Ily is a man. Ily's a man, and no one can know. Not even Jon Snow._

She shoves these traitorous thoughts to the very back of her mind, though it rarely does her much good. She still trains with Jon, because he's quite perceptive – she does not want to risk him getting curious should she suddenly stop. Iliya feels guilty, sometimes, for looking forward to those nights. Nights where it is just she and Jon practicing, nights where it is just the two of them on watch duty on the Wall.

Iliya feels even more heavy of heart at those times when he tells her about his life before the Wall. He talks of Winterfell, of his half-siblings and his father, teaches her how to point out the stars that his maester once taught him to spot. Iliya can only tell him lies.

As horrible as she thinks these things are, she discovers that morning that things can get drastically worse.

They receive another batch of recruits that morning. Iliya and the other men are fighting in the courtyard when the gate creaks open, and she notices her opponent, Pyp, is distracted, as are Jon and Sam and Grenn – so she turns around.

It's not a large group, but she knows the Night's Watch will take any amount. The other move up next to her and she leans on her sword to observe the men spilling into the yard. There's tall ones, short ones, skinny and fat ones, but it is one of the last recruits to file in that makes her hold in her gasp. She's staring right at him, and she can't believe it, it can't be him, it can't – but he must feel her stare because his eyes meet hers and it _is_. Her legs instantly transform into jelly, and she starts shaking so hard that her sword falls forward and lands on the ground with a dull clatter.

She can feel Jon's inquisitive glance on her face, but she can't tear her eyes away. "Ily?"

Iliya barely hears him – it's like she's underwater. Everything is muted and she feels like she's drowning, and there's no air to breathe in. She takes a step back, then another, and another, until her legs are moving of their own volition as she runs to anywhere that isn't the yard.

Stopping behind one of the buildings, she falls on her knees onto the ground. _No. No. No_, she thinks that word like a mantra before she clenches her eyes shut and vomits up the small meal she had eaten that morning, and she's dry heaving even when there's a hand on her shoulder. Eyes wide, she stares up at Jon.

"Ily? Have you fallen ill?"

She has no reply for him just yet. The cold wind breezes by and her face feels colder than the rest of her; she realizes it's because her cheeks are wet with tears. She shoves Jon's hand off of her shoulder and staggers up onto unsteady feet. Iliya can't look him in the eyes with the wetness trailing down her cheeks – the humiliation of this visible weakness is almost enough to rival the lurching sickness in her stomach, in her heart. She tries to discreetly wipe away the tears, even though she knows it's futile.

"Do you need to see Maester Aemon?" Jon asks again.

_Stupid Jon Snow with his stupid concern_, she thinks as she finally looks at him. "No," is all she can muster out. "I'm fine." Iliya tells him, but those words sound hollow even to her.

The look in his eyes tell her he's unconvinced, but he still says, "If you're not ill, then we'll have to go back. You know Thorne will-"

"Then let's go." Her voice sounds a thousand times more stable than she actually feels, and she is grateful for this one small blessing.

They start to walk back in silence, and she slowly regains some of her confidence. _I'm Ily now, _she tells herself, just the same as she has been since she arrived here, and even more forcefully than when she thinks about Jon. _He will not recognize me. _

She and Jon enter the courtyard and rejoin their group. "Are you alright, Ily?" Sam, ever the nice one, asks.

"Yes," She says stiffly, "The food didn't agree with my stomach, is all."

Ser Alliser is already shouting at the new recruits to get on their armor. Once they do, he orders them to begin training right away. He begins to divvy them up, and though she has never been one for religion, she hastily prays with all of her heart to the gods, new and old -

He calls out to _him_, "You can join the bastards' group."

- but they do not hear her prayer, and she curses them just as swiftly.

Iliya resists the overwhelming urge to run away or to hide her face, forces her legs to stand straight and sturdy even as her hand clutches her sword so hard she's sure that her knuckles are white. He still looks the same as he did the last time she had seen him, youthful and comely, with his dark brown hair and green eyes. The only thing that she notices is new is an addition of a fresh scar drawing a jagged line down his cheek.

If her discomfort is noticeable - which she hopes it isn't - no one says anything.

"Ayden Stonetyde," He introduces himself to them, though she doesn't need nor wants any. He still has that cocky lilt to his voice. Grenn and Pyp seem to be sizing him up, but Sam and Jon tell him their names. Ayden looks to her, and she suddenly hates herself for not coming up with a more creative name.

"Ily Waters," She says, but she averts her gaze to the ground and studies the snow that is starting to come down to it. Iliya can feel his stare on her face, longer than it's been on any of the others.

"You remind me of someone I once knew," Ayden says. "Have we met before?"

_Of course I do_, _and we have, _she thinks. She raises a hand to brush some hair over her face, hoping to hide the small, tiny beauty mark underneath her right eye before she looks up at him. He is not stupid, and she doesn't wish to give herself away because of a stupid mark on her face.

"I'm afraid not." _Please, please, let it alone._

"Not even in King's Landing?"

She's left with a blank for what to say for a moment, and she's sure she looks like a gaping fish before she quickly rights herself. Everyone knew she came from King's Landing, so there was naught to do about that. "I did come from King's Landing, but I do not recall ever meeting you."

"I see," His green eyes linger. "It must just be a coincidence, then." Ayden smiles disarmingly, baring his white teeth.

Iliya feels sick all over again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>jon<strong>_

Ily isn't at dinner that night, just as he hasn't been the night before, or even the night before that.

He didn't even appear at breakfast the past three days, either. It wasn't like him to miss a meal – Ily usually ate as much as possible, to "keep his strength up." It hadn't escaped the notice of the others of their little group, though Sam seemed more concerned than Grenn and Pyp. Ily is still always present at training, for surely Thorne would get on her about that.

When Jon questioned Ily about it, he would simply reply that he wasn't hungry, but the growls he sometimes heard coming from his stomach lent no stability to his answer. He knew how Ily acted if he showed more concern towards him than his friend was comfortable with, but he had to eat sometime. Jon also knew that Ily could be as stubborn as a mule at times, and that unless Jon did something about it – well, there was no saying how long Ily's set ways would substitute for food in his belly.

So, sneaking out a bowl of food, he sets out for the tower they share. On the way, Jon thinks over how odd Ily had been acting as of late. It is nothing too noticeable, but he thinks he might be the only one who would notice such small things to begin with. Whereas he used to look him right in the eye and hold his stare as long as he held his, his gaze had started to falter and would drop.

When they train, Ily stays farther away when they fight, at a distance that isn't necessary even for defense. He never bathes during the day, either, or with any of the other men, but that could simply have been Ily's preference. He does know, however, that his lack of hunger had started the day they received the new recruits. Jon still remembers how Ily had gotten sick the moment they had walked through the gate.

When he arrives at his door, he knocks. He hears a muffled, "Who is it?" come through the wood.

"Jon." That is another difference – he never used to ask who was at the door, and would just yell for them to enter. He briefly wonders if Ily has suddenly grown paranoid of … _Of what? _He racks his brain, but he cannot find a possible answer.

"Come in," Comes the same muffled reply.

Ily was laying in his cot, on his side. He studies his friend's face before noting that his face had gotten the tiniest bit thinner these past few days. "You must eat, Ily." He walks forward as Ily sits up, but he makes no motion to take the bowl from his hand.

"I'm fine," He said. "I'm simply tired."

"You're more tired than usual," Jon sighs. "And you wouldn't be if you would eat something."

"I don't remember asking you to become my keeper, Jon." The irritable tone in his voice was something that not even Grenn would miss.

"You didn't," Jon agrees, holding the bowl out once more. "But you need to-"

Ily swipes the bowl from his hand while he's in mid-sentence and stuffs a piece of bread in his mouth, slowly chewing. He watches as Ily gives him a glare before reluctantly shoveling the rest of the food in.

Once he's finished, Jon asks, "Was that so hard to do?"

"Is there anything else you require of me?" Ily does not answer his question, and the audible annoyance has vanished to leave weariness in its place.

"There is," Jon crosses his arms, "What has been bothering you so much? Everyone is concerned."

He raises a brow at that. "Everyone?" He asks dryly.

"What does it matter, Ily? You know who I mean. It's obvious something is wrong."

Ily is silent, and they bore a hole in each other with their eyes until, as he always does lately, Ily looks away. "You have watch duty, don't you?" He lays back down in his bed, rolling over until he faces the wall and not at him. "Please, leave me. I'm tired."

Jon stands there for a moment longer, a frown creasing his features, before he grabs the empty bowl besides his cot and leaves him alone.

* * *

><p><strong><em>iliya<em>**

A week and a half has passed since Ayden's arrival.

She is starting to go down to mealtimes again, if only for Jon's sake. Perhaps even a little bit for hers – she cannot stand the disapproving look in his eyes, but there is nothing she can do to explain why.

It was enough to have to be around Ayden during training, and she was grateful that she at least did not have watch duty with him, but now there was the added time of sitting in the mess hall with him. Almost subconsciously, she stays close - or, depending on who you asked, closer - to Jon's side.

She has no answer as to why, because he cannot help her, no matter how safe he may have made her feel. _No one can_, she thinks dismally.

Ayden does not sit at their table, but she often feels his eyes on her. It makes her skin crawl and her hunger dissipate, but she does not want Jon to chide her like she's a child, so she forces herself to eat. The food does not have any taste even now, as she sits at the table and mindlessly shoves food down her throat. She eats quickly, standing and grabbing her cloak before excusing herself.

Iliya feels Jon's eyes on her back as well as Ayden's when she leaves, but again – what is there she can do?

She does not train that night, since Jon is on watch duty with Sam. Iliya rubs her eyes wearily, about to disrobe when there is a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Iliya mumbles tiredly.

"Ayden. May I come in?"

Her heart stops before it falls into the pit of her stomach, and the exhaustion disappears. She could deny him entry, but if she does, there's the chance he will find that even more curious – if he truly is onto her, at least.

"Come in." She tries to look as nonchalant as possible when he comes in.

"I apologize for such a late visit," He says. "But, you see, there's something about you I can't quite put my finger on." As if to demonstrate, his index finger goes up to rest on his lips, and his eyes seem to examine her as if she is a bug under a thick glass lens.

"I-I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Iliya stutters out, and she wants to hit herself for sounding so scared.

He comes a bit closer and begins to circle around her. "I told you the first day I came here that I was from King's Landing, did I not?"

"... You did." Her eyes stray to her sword – but it's too far, on the other side of the room, and he walks in front of where she stares.

"Well, you see, before I got sent to this shit hole," He takes another step towards her. "There was a brothel in King's Landing. That was a shit hole, too, really." Ayden snorts. "However, there was a whore there – Iliya. Was that her name?"

"I wouldn't know." She takes a step back, but he just takes one forward to match it.

"Are you sure?" He cocks his head, and his straight brown hair falls over one of his eyes. "You two share such a resemblance. It's rather uncanny, actually. Your names are even oddly close to each other's. Ily. Iliya. Wouldn't you agree?"

"It's certainly a coincidence." Iliya feels her body trembling so much that she knows he can see it, but there is nothing that can make this terror flowing through her go away. _What happened to your pride, Iliya? What happened to becoming brave?_

He doesn't acknowledge her answer, and comes so close that they are only a few inches away from each other. "I wish I were as certain as you that it was only a coincidence," He says gently.

A hand comes up to brush her hair away, and if he didn't see her shaking, he can feel it now. "Because you two even have the same mark, right here." Ayden's thumb brushes said mark.

Iliya smacks his hand away and ducks under his arm. If she can just reach her sword, if she can just do _anything - _but Ayden's arm shoots out even faster and grabs her by the back of her shirt, and she lurches back with a yelp. His forearm wraps around her neck, and he holds her there to his chest.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Ayden whispers, his breath warm on her ear. "I never thought I would see Iliya the whore again after I heard she ran off somewhere. I'm sure she never thought she'd cross paths with me ever again." His cheek presses to hers, and though she turns her face to the side, she can feel him smile against her skin. "Did she?"

She struggles, but she's not Ily anymore. She's Iliya, the runaway whore again – weak, scared. There's not even anything to can say to refute this claim; she knows she's been found out. She just remains silent and still, for even if she screams, the tower is home only to she and Jon. Jon is on watch duty, and _he_ is here, and she is trapped.

"Oh, how I've missed you..." He turns her around, lifts her chin up with his hand. "Don't worry, I'll keep your secret safe. If I didn't, you'd get sent away – and then I will be here, for the rest of my life, alone." He grins again.

Iliya spits on him, and her saliva drips down his cheek, taking the smile away with it. Before she can even blink or both curse and congratulate herself for doing such a thing, he backhands her. Her head turns all the way to the side from the force of it, and she bites her lip to keep the surprised cry inside.

"I see." His tone is low; quiet, dangerous. "You're that bastard's little whore now, aren't you? The one from the North?"

_Stay quiet, Iliya. Be quiet, because if you aren't, you will only make things worse for yourself_, she thinks.

Instead, Iliya finds herself glaring up at him. "I'd rather be his whore than yours, you-" He smacks her again, eyes blazing with rage.

The rest of her words die on her lips, and any hope Iliya has ever held in her heart since she ran away goes with them.

* * *

><p>AN: I wonder if anyone was expecting that? And yes, I'm going down this route with an OC - normally I'd hope you liked him, but in this case, I'm hoping you all hate his guts.

And an **important question** I'd like to pose to all you readers:

I'm thinking of having Jon find out her true gender (gasp) in the next chapter or the one after that. Thoughts on that? Too soon? Do it? Please let me know!

As always, I hope everyone was in character and all that, and if I get anything wrong, please correct me.

Thanks for reading, and please review and tell me your thoughts. I looove hearing them. :)


	6. six

A/N: Oh my Godddddd, you guys kill me with the loveliness of your reviews... but in a good way, of course. Most people wanted Jon to find out this chapter, so I've decided to oblige... somewhat.

I hope you all like this chapter! Hopefully no one is disappointed by how things lead up to the discovery/unfold...

I don't own GOT or ASOIAF.

* * *

><p><strong>beyond here lies nothing<strong>

_chapter six_

* * *

><p><em><strong>jon<strong>_

"... listening? Jon?"

"Ah," Jon turns his attention to Sam, who's giving him a slightly exasperated look. "Yes?"

"Well, I was just saying how..."

He's trying to listen, he really is – but his gaze keeps straying to Ily. He can tell something is wrong with him; he's got a sullen expression on that dainty looking face of his more often than not since the newest men came. Jon's in the middle of studying the bruise on Ily's cheek when a pudgy hand waves around in front of his face.

When he looks at Sam again, Sam just sighs and goes back to his bowl. "Never you mind."

He barely hears that, even. Jon wonders where the bruise has come from; he had seen Ily before he had gone on watch duty, and there had been no blemish where there was one now. The only thing he can come up with is that maybe he's being bullied again, but that hasn't happened since people had realized that the two of them were friends, and things never boded well for people who picked on people that were Lord Stark's bastard's friends.

Jon also knows that if he asks Ily, Ily will probably get cross, or brush him off with some excuse. But still, he is the first friend Jon made when he arrived – so he puts all of this aside, and when they are finished breaking their fast and they don their armor in the yard, he decides to ask him.

"Never seen a bruise before, Jon?" Ily replies.

"Of course I've seen one," He frowns. _What was I expecting? _"It's where you got it from that I'm unsure of."

"It's from training yesterday. It just didn't show up until now, is all."

Ily's cheek is a splotch of purple, and it's faint – but with Ily's paleness, it stands out as much as a fish on dry land. His friend has always had a guarded aura about him, that was easy enough to see, but Jon can't help but feel that it's become more than that lately. Their conversations are slowly dwindling, mostly due to Ily's lackluster attitude that had appeared this last week.

"Stonetyde!" Thorne's bellows cut into his inner musings. "Go against the bastard lass."

Ily steps up – he already knows that Thorne is talking about him, since most insults that have to do with his circumstances of birth and sweet face are usually referring to Ily. Jon glances at Ily as he proceeds to the ring with Stonetyde, one of the new recruits, and he swears he sees fear flit across his face, but it is soon gone. A look at Stonetyde, who towers over Ily, gives him the impression he feels quite the opposite.

Stonetyde goes first, lunging forward with his training sword out. Ily tries to dodge, and for the most part he does, though the sword manages to swipe his side. The smaller man lets out a grunt before pivoting on his heel and giving Stonetyde a jab, which he deftly avoids. With Ily's momentum off from his swing, he's no match for the next blow he's dealt.

Sword held high with two hands, Stonetyde brings it down slightly angled – there's a loud thwack as it lands on Ily's neck, where the armor does not protect. If it had been a real sword, Ily's head would've been half chopped off. Stunned with pain, Ily's hand shoots up to his neck, managing to bring the sword up to block another hit from his opponent. But the larger man is clearly stronger, and with a vigorous shove, brings Ily to his knees.

"Do you yield?" Stonetyde practically sings.

Jon is almost startled by the look in Ily's eyes as he glares up at his opponent. A look of hate burns in Ily's eyes – he's seen the look all too many times on Catelyn to mistake it for anything else – but those embers burn out to leave something like regret, mingled with defeat and …_ Fear?_ Jon wonders again.

"I ... yield."

He frowns again. The only time he has seen Ily yield that quickly was that night of their private training, which feels like so long ago now. Ily's not even looking up at Stonetyde anymore, but instead stares blankly at the snow as he brings himself back up to his feet. Stonetyde, on the other hand, has a triumphant gleam to his eyes, a broad white smile on his face.

_Is it him? Is it him that's bothering Ily? _Jon mulls this over. Stonetyde is new, after all – maybe he isn't aware that Ily is – _What? Under the bastard's protection? _He thinks mockingly.

He sounds ridiculous, Jon tells himself, but the absurd ring to this thought is the truth. Ily is just one of his brothers; he had done the same for Sam, and would have done the same for Grenn and Pyp if it were them. He keeps his thoughts inside, however, and steps up to the ring when Thorne tells him to take Ily's place.

Perhaps he's wrong. Maybe he's just reading into things too much, but Jon figures Stonetyde's smug face can be taken down a notch or two either way.

* * *

><p><em><strong>iliya<strong>_

Iliya knows she shouldn't have laughed the moment it leaves her lips. In her defense, she had just felt all too giddy seeing Ayden beat down by Jon – a moment a madness, she thinks. Only madness would allow her to do something that she knows will make things harder for her. But Ayden won't care about her reasoning, or her split second loss of her wit.

_Stupid,_ she curses herself when Ayden's gaze snaps to hers, and she quickly looks down at the snow. Chancing another look up, she sees him swat away the point of Jon's sword from his neck and stalking to another ring of men – probably to reassert his confidence by fighting with men whose skills can't compare to Jon's.

She's still cursing herself even when Jon comes to stand by her on the sidelines. In another second bout of madness, she hopes night will not come. _Night always comes, Iliya. And when it does, he will come for you._

Ayden had already taken her last night. The moment had been to opportune for him to pass on, what with no one else in the tower. She had tried fighting, she really had, but her strength was not even close to his, and he had taught her a lesson for even trying. Iliya had cried long after he left, long after he promised her the same would happen the next night. _"And if your northern bastard isn't on watch, you'll have to keep silent, won't you?" _He had said.

Her dreams had been no better last night. She dreamt of the brothel; of the first time Ayden came to her, of her own first time becoming intimate with a man. That was when she had begged him to please, please, take her away, and cried all of her tears out - so much that when that handsome face had turned into a monster's, she had none left to cry.

Iliya's dream – no, nightmare – was as vivid as if it had happened a mere day before, or even an hour. She awoke the next morning aching from phantom pain; but it wasn't imaginary, it was real. Everything was real, and Ayden was there, and she would relive that nightmare so long as he was there.

And Jon, he has already asked about the bruise on her face from Ayden's blows last night. Iliya was foolish to provoke Ayden, since the consequences of his anger will surely give Jon more cause to wonder. She cannot risk him finding out about this; he would know she is a girl, then, and then what would Jon Snow do? If he ever does find out, even so – what about Ayden?

Her head starts to hurt from thinking about it, and for the rest of the day, she does her very best to forget that she's landed herself in the very situation she had thought she'd escaped.

Two more weeks pass.

Iliya still trains with Jon, if only to keep up appearances. She almost hates being around him, and she thinks that she despises his presence so much for the exact reason that she loves it. Jon Snow is a good man, her friend; and when he's not verbally questioning her strange behavior, she can see the concern in his eyes.

The more time she spends with Jon, the more she hates how her life has become.

But even those times of training, those short times where she can _almost _forget, are cut short. She has to leave before Ayden comes for his nightly visits, because she certainly does not need Jon Snow asking why someone she doesn't ever talk with is coming up the tower to visit her so late.

She hates lying to him. She hates not being able to tell him about everything, he who has been so honest with her about his own life. Maybe even more, she hates the way that she pretends it's Jon's face instead of Ayden's sometimes – his dark, kind brown eyes and tousled curls – when her tormentor comes to her so late at night to satisfy himself.

Iliya feels stupid for imagining Jon in his place; it's silly, really. It's almost embarrassing, because it isn't as if he knows that she's a girl. It feels like childish admiration, like something unattainable. Iliya wishes she could apologize to Jon for the way she acts, cold and numb, but she's afraid that if she ever does, it will have gotten to the point where he does not care to hear why anymore.

So because of this fear - one of her many - even though happy is the last thing she feels like, she puts on the facade that she is. And for the most part, she's sure it works. He doesn't ask her what's wrong anymore, though she isn't dumb enough not to notice the way his eyes trace the bruises on her face.

Out of all these things, she hates how she doesn't feel strong anymore.

* * *

><p>Something feels even more wrong than it had before.<p>

Jon feels like he shouldn't be thinking that, since everything with Ily seemed back to the way it usually was – but it's just too _strange _that he is suddenly fine. Ily acts happy, even; and in the months that Jon has befriended him, he has not even seemed that so much as he does now.

Ily smiles more, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He laughs and jokes, but the laughs seem forced, and Ily has barely ever joked around before. Sometimes Ily will look at him with that stiff smile and empty laughter on his lips, and Jon almost thinks he's saying, _"See? I'm fine, Jon. I'm fine, so stop worrying."_

Perhaps he's overthinking these things, as he's been telling himself he has been for weeks now. But maybe he isn't, says another voice, a voice that tells him this happiness that's taken Ily's place is not right. He isn't a dolt; he sees the tension between Ily and Stonetyde, tension so thick that he could cut it with his dagger. Ily becomes meek when pitted against him in training; there's not enough happiness to disguise that.

He himself isn't so fond of Stonetyde; there's a pompous air about the man that reminds him of Theon Greyjoy, a way about him that would make one think he's smiling about something no one else knows. The man clearly did not share any love for Jon, either. Jon can see behind that smile, senses something vicious behind those white bared teeth.

Jon and Ily are on watch duty together for the first time in weeks. And even though Ily, strangely enough, truly does seem relieved about _something_, he decides to try and delve further into the subject.

"Ily?"

Ily lets out a small hum, looking up from the fire he's warming his hands over to look at Jon.

"May I ask something?"

"Of course," Ily says, and a real smile appears.

Jon hesitates after seeing it, but forces himself to get on with it. "You … seem happy, lately."

"That's not a question, Jon." He tilts his head. "What is bothering you?"

_How ironic, _he thinks. "Nothing is the matter with me." He pauses. "We haven't known each other long, but..."

"But?" Ily prompts, large light brown eyes looking at him questioningly.

"But perhaps we've known each other long enough that ... I can sense that something is not yet right with you."

Ily stares at him silently before turning his head to gaze at the dark lands that stretch beyond the Wall. "Might it be you don't know me as well as you think, Jon."

Jon knows he should let it rest. He should leave it be, because he's never really been able to get a straight answer out of Ily. Why should he be able to now? Against his better judgement, however, he goes on to voice his suspicion.

"Does it have something to do with that recruit? Stonetyde?"

It's almost discernible, but Ily's hands twitch and he freezes, as still as the statues in the tombs underneath Winterfell. He stays like that for a few moments before turning to Jon once more, but those light brown eyes seem to have become guarded once more. "Why … what makes you think that?"

Jon immediately notes that Ily hasn't denied it - but he hasn't confirmed it, either. He thinks of what to say. "... The air between you two gets colder than it should be, even here at the Wall."

"You once told me your lord father's house words were 'winter is coming'." He says slowly. "Perhaps it is the oncoming season that you sense."

Jon frowns at the way Ily dodges his question. "If he is bothering you, Ily-"

"'If he's bothering me?' What, shall I tell the resident hero Jon Snow that I need some rescuing?" He snaps, and Jon does not even need the imagery of the fire's reflection in Ily's eyes to see that he's angry. "What will you do, Jon? Threaten him, beat him? Perhaps you ought to think of the repercussions of what doing such things will do to-!"

Ily stops his tirade as suddenly as he started it. "He is not bothering me, Jon. You and your incessant questions, on the other hand..." He stops mid-sentence and looks to Jon, biting his lip. He can see shame has taken the place of his anger. "I know not what I say. I am sorry, Jon."

Jon swears he sees tears pooling in Ily's eyes. "Are you...?" _Crying?_ He almost asks in disbelief.

The sight shocks him a bit; he had seen Ily crying before, but it had been different that time. He had been dreaming, and Jon had simply been an intruder, not meant to see such things. But Ily was awake, now, and Jon was right in front of him. To get riled up over asking about Stonetyde, enough to shed tears – there isn't much doubt in Jon's mind anymore.

"The smoke from this fire gets to me, at times," Ily says, and draws up the hood of his cloak.

A few more nights pass. Even though he now knows it has something to do with Stonetyde – Ily's reaction was so obvious that he might as well have said it aloud – there is no proof.

Ily's words ring in his head; "_Shall I tell the resident hero, Jon Snow?"_

_He isn't wrong, Jon, _he thinks to himself. Perhaps he should let Ily fight his own battles. He wonders to himself again why he cares so much – but it is something he cannot describe, just as indescribable as the haunted look Ily gets in his eyes at times.

Yes, even though Jon Snow has no proof – he gets it in the form of the usually silent Ghost.

Ghost is the most quiet out of all the direwolves they found so long ago in Winterfell – he rarely barks, and does not so much as growl unless he senses there is something amiss.

So when Jon is returning from watch duty with Sam and he encounters Stonetyde in the hall of Hardin's Tower - he doesn't even need to hear Ghost's low, dangerous growl or see his raised hackles to know something is wrong.

Ghost snaps his long, sharp jaws at Stonetyde when he gets closer. "You'd best keep your beast in hand, Lord Snow," He says disdainfully, then continues on his way out.

"What is your reason for being here so late, Stonetyde?" Jon asks suspiciously. He lays a hand on Ghost's head and the audible growls stop, but he can still feel the quiet vibrations rumbling deeply in the direwolf's throat.

Stonetyde stops and turns to Jon. "I wasn't aware I needed one." He shrugs. "If it makes any difference, I was simply having a friendly little chat with … what is the name you use?" Stonetyde cocks his head, as if he's recalling something. "Ah! Ily. Yes, I was just having a little talk with … Ily." He smiles, that toothy grin that rubs Jon the wrong way. "Do I need your royal permission to leave, Lord Snow?"

But he doesn't wait for one, anyways, and leaves Jon standing in the hall with Ghost.

* * *

><p><em><strong>iliya<strong>_

She can't help the little sob that leaves her as Ayden leaves, shutting the door behind him. She clutches her blanket closer to her body, her grip tight with the strength she tries to use to keep in the tears she does not want to cry. It's even colder since she's naked, save for the loose cloth bindings that lay unraveled about her waist, but she's too numb to feel it either way.

_How much longer must this go on? _She asks herself, squeezing her wet eyes shut. _Forever? _

Oh, how she despises him. She wants nothing more than to claw his eyes out; wants to rip out his hair, wants to give him a matching scar for the other side of his face.

"_Got that from a whore like you,"_ He had sneered before ripping her bindings loose. _"Pulled a dagger on me for 'getting too rough'. That's why I'm here. Made me angry, and so I killed her. It was too bad for me that she was one of those uppity, stick up their arse lord's favorites."_ Ayden had laughed then, staring down at her blank face. She didn't even try to fight anymore. _"Or maybe not, since you're here. How the gods must smile upon me ..."_

Iliya gets up, disregarding the way the blanket falls from her and leaves her bare to the frigid air in her room. Stumbling to face the old stone wall, her face screws up with a miserable expression and she punches the wall. The wall is as hard and unrelenting as this destiny that seems laid upon her.

_You are a fool, Iliya. Only a fool thinks they can escape their fate._

She punches and punches and punches until her knuckles are numb, until the flesh covering them is raw and bloody. _Weak, weak, weak. _She gives one last, half-hearted hit before her head drops to rest against the wall, her arm falling to her side. All of a sudden the aches and pains that her body's been dealt seem to hit her at once, the bruises she can feel on her back and legs joining in a symphony of hurt. Tears are streaming down her face, but but she can't find strength to wipe them away.

_I hate him,_ she screams in her mind. _I hate him! He's ruined everything. Everything..._

The door creaks open from behind her, and the rage in her thoughts gives her enough courage to yell out, "What do you want from me now? Have you not taken enough?"

But there is no answer, and when she turns around – it isn't Ayden that stands there, but Jon Snow.

* * *

><p>AN: So, I really hope no one minded how I've done it so far – I also hope this wasn't so cliché that you're all cringing right now.

I would say more, except I'm kind of tired, so...

I'd just like to ask you all to tell me what you think of this chapter, thoughts on the next one...

I really, really hope you liked reading. Please review! Reviews get my ass in gear to write faster, if you can't tell by now... :)


	7. seven

A/N: Oh my God, so many reviews! I loved each and every one of them, and if I wasn't so tired from making myself write this, I'd write out replies! :( Though I will reply to two things I can think of off the top of my head:

I've written Jon's eyes as brown here since it's pretty much following the HBO adaptation (and I'm pretty sure we all love Kit's eyes here ... I think).

And to Gamine, you are not arrogant at all, haha. I'll definitely try to take your advice and see if I can seamlessly change from POV to POV without making it so obvious - if that makes sense...

But everyone, thanks SO much for all these reviews. If it wasn't for them, I don't know when I'd get my ass in gear to write this.

I'm kind of disappointed in this chapter, and I'm not really sure if I've written Jon right for this chapter. Urgh. D: Hopefully, you all feel a lot better about this chapter than I do.

I don't own GOT or ASOIAF.

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><p><strong>beyond here lies nothing<strong>

_chapter seven_

* * *

><p>The shocked silence that permeates the room is louder than any words they can possibly say.<p>

Ily – _if that's even her name_, he thinks - is still mirroring Jon's expression with his … no, _her_ mouth ajar and eyes wide when Jon slams the door shut. The first thing he had noticed when he opened the door were the bruises that seemed to litter her body; and then, she had turned around and he noticed things he had certainly never expected to.

"Wait!" She yells. She flings the door open, her haphazardly thrown on clothes disheveled and cheeks red. He thinks she is probably expecting him to be halfway down the hall by now – but he's still in front of her door, slackjawed with disbelief. _Ily's a girl. _All thoughts of Ayden Stonetyde have already vanished from his mind.

Face still etched with confusion, he studies her face, gaze dipping below briefly. Sure enough, the chest he glances at is no longer flat, and his mouth finally closes and he looks at her. _Looks _at her, looks at her. "You're ... you're a girl." His brows furrow. "You're a _girl _ ?"

Iliya winces. "I can … I can explain this. Please, Jon." Her voice is high, higher than he's ever heard it, but he supposes that such a pitch wouldn't do while masquerading around as a boy. "Please, don't … don't tell anyone."

She grabs his shoulders to make him focus his attention, and he looks down at them; for the very first time, he notices how small and delicate they look, though he knows her palms are probably rough and calloused by now.

"Ily..." Jon frowns. "That isn't your name, is it?"

She flinches again. "Iliya. My name, it's … it's Iliya."

Everything makes sense now, in a way – why she chose this tower, why she bathes when no one else is awake, why there isn't a hint of hair that grows on her face. Now that he's seen her more … _feminine_ aspects, he wonders how he's never noticed at all. This close, it's like he finally sees her long lashes, the pink of her chapped lips. He faintly remembers the way she had blushed when he was on top of her that night they trained, and swallows.

"I've told you many things about myself," Jon says slowly, "I never once lied about any of those things. When you told me about yourself, it never crossed your mind to tell me that-"

"What was I to do, Jon?" She asks with frustration, but her lowered eyes tell him she at least has the decency to be ashamed about it. "I didn't know what you would do. If you would tell the others, or ..."

"Explain, then," He tells her. "And I want the truth." He wonders how much of it he actually knows about her, and deems it to be very little. "Why did you come to take the black? You're a girl, Ily - Iliya." He corrects himself, somewhat bitterly. "What was so terrible in your life that you came here? Grown _men _don't even desire to join the Night's Watch. It's filled with rapers, thieves. Murderers."

"There are people like Sam," She argues. "Like … like you."

"That is not enough reason."

Iliya bites her lips. "Come inside. I will tell you everything." She steps back into her room and stares out of the tiny arrow slit she has for a window, because she doesn't think she can bear to look at him if he walks away. "I promise."

But he does come in, and a small portion of the heaviness that lays in her chest disperses. She takes a seat on her cot as he shuts the door, wringing her hands.

"I never lied about being a bastard," She starts. "But I was never a thief. My mother was a whore in King's Landing, though she died before I could even crawl. And I … I was to follow in her footsteps, once I came of age." Iliya glances at him to gauge his reaction, but he's schooled his face to a blank slate, so she looks down at her hands and continues.

"I didn't want to be a whore, Jon. I'd have rather been anything else … but I was born in a brothel, and would have stayed there until I fell ill and died, or became too old and decrepit." _What will he think of me now? _She thinks, gathering her next words.

_Will he ever smile at me again? Will he still be a friend to Ily, now that he knows who Ily truly is?_

"It was forced on me all the same, this fate of mine." She almost doesn't want to continue, but she hears the thunk of his boots as he steps closer. She has not lost him yet, so she urges herself to go on.

"But as much as I did not want this life, there was no escape. No one takes a bastard whore as a wife, and I knew I was not meant for great things, big things. I was just Iliya Waters, a whore from King's Landing, and my existence served for people to use me as they pleased for naught but shiny coins."

"I had always heard things about the Night's Watch … I knew what sort of people came to the Wall, but it mattered not to me. I could leave King's Landing behind, and I could come here. I could come here and I could learn to be strong, to never be used again. If I had to leave Iliya behind and become something I was not … well, that was the whole point."

There's a sudden weight on the cot, and she meekly looks over to see Jon sitting on the end of it, his back to her. "Jon..."

"I cannot pretend to know what that must be like, but this life … this life is filled with the cold, with fighting." He turns to her. "You would pretend to be a man for the rest of your life?"

She does not hesitate in her answer. "I would. I would not change a thing."

Jon is quiet after that; Iliya feels like the minutes that pass by stretch into eternity, and she hazards another glance at him to see he's already looking at her. "What will you do, Jon Snow? Will you … will you tell them the truth?" She asks, holding his gaze in trepidation of his answer.

There is another long pause that she feels is entirely too long - Iliya feels even more naked than she had felt when he first came in, under the scrutiny of those brown eyes.

"I will keep your secret," Jon finally tells her, and she lets out a breath she did not know she was holding. "But no more lies, Il … Iliya."

Relief washes over her and takes away the fear, much like the tide sweeps away footprints, and for a moment she feels like everything may turn out fine. "N-no more lies!" She stutters from the high of her exhilaration, and finds herself getting up from the cot and throwing her arms around Jon Snow tightly in her gratitude.

He returns it somewhat awkwardly, tentatively placing his arms around her loosely. He does not think he has ever been this close to a female that hasn't been Arya – but this is not his sister.

"Thank you. Thank you ..." Iliya whispers, and her hold tightens more.

Jon Snow is a bastard, and yet this woman places no importance on that fact and still holds him close. As soon as that thought surfaces, others he does not want to acknowledge come with it. He becomes uncomfortably aware of her unbound chest pressing against his, recalling the image of her bared, pale flesh - and he lets go. She seems to realize what she's done, and her cheeks grow flushed again as she too releases him.

"You … you won't treat me any different, will you, Jon?" She asks uncertainly. "Even though I've lied about things, you – you're my friend still, aren't you?" The last part comes out hastily.

"You're the same person no matter man or woman, are you not?" He replies. This is still much for him to take in, but he'll have to. He does not want to think of what would happen to her if anyone else ever found out about her. Jon feels nauseous at the thought of what the men alone would do, much less someone like Thorne.

Something occurs to him. "That day when we cleaned the hall with Sam, and had that talk … you were talking about yourself, weren't you." It isn't so much a question as it is a statement, and she can only nod in reply. He seems to mull this over. "Your secret is safe," He repeats again, more certain than the first time.

And though he's forgotten about Stonetyde up until this point, he suddenly remembers how he came to stumble upon this secret in the first place. "And Stonetyde?"

Iliya worries her lip. _No more lies, _she mentally repeats_. _She has promised that to this man, the one whose word she trusts to never divulge her secret, and there is no turning back. So she sits back on the cot, and tells him nothing but the truth.

When they break their fast the next morning, they act like nothing is out of the ordinary. However, Iliya's voice becomes deeper once more, and Jon cannot stop sneaking glances at her, now that he knows she is female. He also cannot stop the way he glances at Stonetyde, and something churns in his stomach when he sees him staring at Iliya, however discreetly he may be doing it.

Thinking of what she had told him of the man sickens him, especially now when he notices how small she really is, sitting in this hall of grown men. He thinks of the bruises that form some terrible sort of constellation on her body, and loses his appetite.

Eventually, the other man must feel his stare, because he returns it with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk. Jon looks back, and he feels his lip curl up in disgust ever so slightly before he tears his eyes away to glance at Iliya. She's smiling about something that Sam is going on about, something he hasn't seen in far too long.

She doesn't notice the way Stonetyde is leering at her, and Jon makes up his mind.

Thorne pits Jon against her in training that day, but he is unsure of how to go about fighting her. Before, she was a fellow man; but now, he knows her for who she is, and Jon Snow has never been one to want to fight a woman. He mostly dodges her attacks, letting her get some hits in before he yields.

"Lord Snow's scared of the pretty bastard, is he?" Thorne laughs. "Guess you're not so high and mighty after all."

He can take Thorne's mocking, but he isn't so certain about the frown Iliya gives him as they return to the sidelines.

"You let me win," She states, peering up at him with furrowed brows.

"Or perhaps your skill is growing," He throws back.

"I'm not a fool, Jon. Don't go easy on me because of who I am. No one else will. It's insulting," Iliya says sulkily before huffing. Before he can reply, she adds, "And don't think that we'll be stopping our own training, either."

Her tone leaves no room for argument, though Jon supposes that if he keeps helping her, she'll be able to defend herself against people who don't know her secret – he would much rather that, because she's right about the fact that no one will go easy on her.

Training ends, and everyone starts to head towards the armoury. "Jon?" Iliya turns when she realizes he is not following her.

"Go on ahead," He waves, "I'll join you shortly."

Iliya looks at him suspiciously, but nods and does as he says. He waits until he sees Stonetyde finally entering the armoury as everyone else leaves, and it does not escape his notice that he grabs Iliya's arm, whispering something to her before she wrenches her arm out of his grip. His fingers clench and loosen and clench again, and he follows Stonetyde into the armoury.

He's sliding his sword into the rack when Jon comes in, and he's thankful no one else is present; it will make things much easier. "Stonetyde."

The man turns around. "Lord Snow."

"There are some things I would like to make clear." He tells him, ignoring the jest.

"Oh? And what would these things be, my lord?"

"You will not touch her ever again. Nor will you speak to her, or even look at her." Jon says, sliding the his own sword into the rack. He does not need to elaborate on who he's talking about, since there is only one woman on the Wall.

Stonetyde laughs. "I see you know of her secret. Quite frankly, I'm surprised a dimwit such as her could manage to fool everyone on this Wall."

"She is no dimwit, and you will not touch-"

"Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, Lord Snow?" He interrupts, "There's no helping it, I suppose. There's few women on this godforsaken Wall … none, actually, except for her." That white smile appears. "And I've had her first. She'll always be mine, and we'll be here together on this Wall until the day we die."

Jon takes another step, hand tightening into a fist. "That day may come sooner than later for you, should you not heed my words."

He simply cocks his head. "You're quite serious about this, aren't you?" He shrugs. "If you're going to take this that harshly, I suppose we could work out a deal of sorts. Though I can't say I'd want to share my things with a bastard, it isn't as if she's used to keeping one man and one man only-"

Now it is Stonetyde's words that are interrupted when Jon's fist meets his face, and not expecting it, Stonetyde stumbles back. Jon feels some satisfaction when the other man spits blood and two of his teeth. Glaring at Jon, he wipes the red from his mouth before standing straight again, and his fist flies out.

But unlike him, Jon is expecting it, and catches his fist in his hand, swiftly grabbing Stonetyde's head with his free hand to make it meet his knee. Now with a bloody nose to match his mouth, he steps back, albeit a bit shakily. "I'll die before I listen to a bastard," He sneers. "I'll do what I want with her, when I want, again and again-"

He stops talking when he sees Jon's fist raise up again, but the door creaks open again. He steps to the side to keep Stonetyde in his sight to see who's entered, but it's just Sam. Sam looks from Stonetyde to Jon, but wisely does not say anything.

"E-erm, Ily asked me to tell you that you've got midday watch with him. He's already on his way up the Wall."

Jon nods at him, and goes to follow Sam out. He turns and gives Stonetyde, who is holding a hand up to his bleeding nose, one last warning glare.

"What was that about, Jon?" Sam questions, looking at him with a mixture of nervousness and curiousity.

"Nothing to concern yourself with, Sam. Don't worry."

But Jon himself does worry, because he gets the feeling Stonetyde will not listen – and if a beating does not make him listen, he isn't sure what will. _Hopefully he isn't as stupid as I think he is._

Jon makes his way up the Wall in the cage, and he finds Ily a ways down, huddled in her black fur cloak by the fire. She glances up at him at his arrival with a smile. "What's kept you?" Her voice sounds the way it's meant to be, soft and not attempting to be awkwardly deep. He decides he likes the sound of it.

"Nothing important." He returns the smile for her sake, to keep her from figuring out what he's done and either yelling at him or frowning at him in that displeased way of hers.

She gives him that cautious look again, but ends up sighing. "Right." She begins talking of something else, but he isn't really listening, distracted by the way her mouth moves and trying not to act like he's looking at them in the first place.

He knows she does not want his protection, he thinks to himself - but if there's one thing he will vow to protect other than the Wall and the lands it defends, it will be Iliya and the smile on those very lips he can't tear his eyes from.

* * *

><p>AN: Lame ending is lame. :D And I PRAY Jon still seems IC - I feel like perhaps I made him a bit too... maybe 'swayed by femininity' is the right phrase I'm looking for? Or maybe 'rushing things/attraction'... but I don't know, poor virgin Jon Snow hasn't tapped anything ever, SO.

I also can't help but feel I've made him accept the fact Iliya's a girl too easily, but I kind of figured he'd look at it as she's still the same person... or something... maybe I'm the only one who feels like this chapter is lacking something?

And that is why you should all let me know what you think. :D (Seriously, I feel very, very iffy about this chapter.)

Thanks for reading, please review and share your thoughts and any criticism with me! :)


	8. eight

A/N: Whew, I'm so relieved you all thought the reveal was okay. :) Thanks so much to all your reviews! Again, I wish I wasn't too tired after writing this to reply, but I feel like I could pass out at any moment now...

So without further ado, here's another chapter (in which not much really happens, but kinda sorta does)!

I don't own GOT or ASOIAF.

* * *

><p><strong>beyond here lies nothing<strong>

_chapter eight_

* * *

><p>Iliya had not been jesting when she told him she wanted to keep training.<p>

_This had been so much easier when I thought her to be a man, _Jon thinks to himself. There is only so long he can dance around her attacks and hit her lightly; she's beginning to get an annoyed look on her face.

"If it makes things easier for you, pretend I am still a boy," She says harshly, waving her sword around.

That is something he is sure he'll never be able to do. _Not after … _She lets out another yell and charges at him. She looks much like she wants to either throw her sword to the side or at his head after he lets her land a blow.

"Jon!" It almost sounds like a whine.

"I'm sorry. It's just ..." Jon looks at her; and for a moment, beyond the woman he now sees her for, he sees Arya.

Arya had never cared for tradition or what was right for a _lady_, and wanted to be treated as equally as the men were. Whether it was getting into scuffles with the stableboys or wishing to learn how to fight, she had always defied the predestined rules of her gender. He had even given her a sword – Needle, she had named it.

And this girl, red-faced with frustration in front of him, Iliya - she is certainly no lady, and her presence at the Wall is more than enough to tell tradition to bugger off.

"Just what?" She prompts him impatiently, still holding an offensive position.

A faint smile passes on his lips before he says, "Nothing at all." Jon lunges at her, finally, and she smiles too before parrying.

"It's about time you stopped being so courteous," Iliya pants, sitting against the stone wall when they finish.

Though he knows it's meant to be a joke, he still frowns. "I'm not used to fighting girls. I didn't want to..." _Hurt you, _he finishes mentally, because he knows if he says it aloud her pride will take offense.

"You should be," She replies, raising a brow. Jon has a feeling she knows what he was going to say, but just chooses not to linger on it. "You have been for months now."

"I suppose you're right."

They sit in silence, slowly winding down. It's mostly comfortable, though they steal glances at each other when one is not looking. Finally, Iliya stands. "It's getting later and later. I should get some rest."

Jon nods, standing as well, before a thought crosses his mind. "Ily – Iliya."

It's still strange to him, to call her Iliya. She's told him he can keep calling her Ily, but he's not so sure he wants to; in private, at least. He wonders if he should feel odd for thinking of it as some sort of privilege that no one else here has. She turns to him, tucking her sweaty brown hair behind her ear and waiting.

"Stonetyde," He begins hesitantly, "Has he … has he let you be?"

She stares at him for a while, something indescernible in her eyes. "These past two days … yes." Her eyes narrow for a split second. "Makes me wonder if something was said to him. Or, perhaps I should say _done_ to him, seeing as he's missing teeth and his nose has suddenly gone crooked."

Jon shifts somewhat uncomfortably. Iliya isn't stupid, he knows that – he doesn't know why he thought this would escape her. "I hadn't noticed."

Iliya gives him another long look. "Jon..." She bites her tongue. Her pride could suffer just a bit, she thinks. How could she chastise him when he's been as understanding as he's been? "I suppose it does not matter. He had already thought you knew my secret, to begin with."

"What do you mean?" He asks, stopping her in mid-stride out of his door.

She turns back around, and a faint blush creeps up her neck. "He thought I was … that you and I ..." Iliya looks anywhere but him as the realization of what she's trying to say dawns on him. Iliya clears her throat awkwardly. "G-goodnight." And then she's gone, embarrassment speeding up her retreat.

Still, her words ring in his mind even after she's left – and, almost against his will, the image of them tangled together on his floor that one night appears unbidden. Accompanying it is the curiousity of what it would be like, tangled in a different way, because it isn't as if he would know. But just as quickly as that thought appears, he shoves it to the back of his mind. Wearily, he rubs at his temples.

Even thinking of that feels wrong, disrespectful. Surely, after all Iliya has been through, she does not need a repeat of her past – even if said past had caught up to her in the form of Ayden Stonetyde.

But that was why he had done what he did; because even if it wounded her pride, it would protect her all the same. Iliya certainly does not need a bastard like himself to add onto the list, even if it is just his own mind's follies. What sort of protector does he make if he has difficulty warding off the exact kind of thoughts he's trying to guard her from?

And down the hall, Iliya grimaces into her pillow, rolling over. How traitorous her thoughts are, she thinks, when she wonders if he has the sort of thoughts she has about him at times. His hesitance to attack her as he normally would lets her know he certainly sees her as a woman, but what else does he see?

Iliya berates herself when she thinks this way – she had told herself long ago she'd have been happy to never lay with a man ever again, but these thoughts of hers make that memory seem so distant it's like she's never thought it in the first place.

And beyond that is the knowledge that nothing can happen between them, anyways. Jon seems too honorable, _is _too honorable to break the vows he will soon have to take. It's a path that would lead to nowhere. She faintly remembers having that same exact thought before, when thinking of him.

It does not surprise her, either, that he's talked to - or threatened – Ayden, even though he still throws her ugly looks. Jon had done things like that when he still thought Iliya was just a boy, bullied for having a girlish face and being too small. It would've been stranger if he had done nothing at all. No matter how many times Jon defends her, however, it still feels odd.

No matter how many times it happens, it still makes something flutter in her stomach, even if she would rather die before she admits it.

It's that type of thought that branches off into thinking how Jon Snow is so different from everyone else – so different that she allows herself to entertain the thoughts she's trying so hard to banish, if only for a little while.

But that little while stretches into longer than she's pleased or comfortable with, and she finds she can't even fall asleep with these thoughts busying her mind, no matter how tired she is. _A bath might help_, she thinks. Hot water sounds wonderful to her; maybe these silly things she's been thinking will dissipate with the steam.

It's late enough where no one is awake, so she gets up and redresses herself before making her way to the bath house. She tries her best to be quiet, even if the walls are thick; everything echoes at night, and is louder than in the daytime and all its racket. The last thing she needs is to wake up Jon, but her boots still clap noisily on the floor.

She sinks into the stone tub, letting out a sigh of relief as the hot water warms her bones and makes her aches disappear. _I could fall asleep right here. _But no sooner does Iliya think that when she's snapped back into awareness as a hand grabs her hair tightly. She lets out a yelp as the grip on her hair lifts up, yanking her half way out of the tub.

"I was right," A voice breathes into her ear, husky with anger. "Wasn't I?"

It's Ayden – she does not need to try and twist around to look at him, because she already knows. She wonders how long he has been waiting outside with only the hope she would come in.

"What are you talking about?" She hisses.

A small part of Iliya tells her not to fight, just like she hadn't fought before Jon found out about her secret. She squashes that down, though, because she can't be quiet about it anymore, even if it is for her own welfare. That thought alone makes her wince – _welfare, _she thinks mockingly – even without the way her scalp is screaming from the pain.

"You're Lord Snow's whore. I was right." Ayden answers, spite lacing his words.

"I'm nobody's whore. Not yours, not anymore. Never yours-"

Her attempt to stand her ground is quickly flung out the window when the hand that has her hair slams her head onto the stone edge of the tub. Everything spins and fizzles before her eyes, and the world goes quiet for a moment, save for the ringing in between her ears. The almost blessed silence is gone just as swiftly, and she realizes dimly that he's yelling.

"... won't even need you ..." His words filter in slowly and with difficulty. "... once I've sworn my … sneak to the brothel in Mole's Town ..."

And then he's plunging her head into the water, holding her there. Faintly, she hears his muted speech from under the water, sees something red swirling in the water. _My head's bleeding_, she thinks belatedly. He brings her back up again.

"... rid of you here, the Others take you ..." He says, and thrusts her head back underwater.

_Fight, Iliya. Fight! _She thrashes around weakly, trying to get a grip on the edge of the tub to pull herself up – but he's stronger than her, just as he always has been. He brings her back out, and she only catches snippets of mad sounding laughter before he dunks her back in. She doesn't know how long this goes on for, being underneath the hot red water, the lack of air and his laughter joining the ringing in her ears; but then the hand lets go.

Iliya takes in a gasp like she's never tasted the air before, and her arms come up to clutch the sides of the tub with trembling hands. She tries to lift her head up, but it hurts too much, and she ends up resting it on the stone. She forces her eyes to try and focus, and she can only see two black blurry figures before her starry vision.

"... should kill you where you stand ..." _The voice sounds familiar_, she thinks dizzily. "...give you a choice..." _Jon?_

The rest of the conversation is beyond her, and she closes her eyes. She hears the thud of hits against flesh, an outraged cry; before long, the angry yell turns into a whimper and something she can't understand is said. She opens her eyes once more, and though the world darkens around her, she still tries to make out what's going on. She sees one dark figure holding the other down, sees his mouth moving when she squints – but she cannot hear anything.

_It hurts, _she thinks. _I'll just close my eyes …_

But then someone is shaking her, and she makes herself open her eyes again. Her gaze roams the room almost lazily, and the other figure is gone – and Jon's face comes into view.

"_Iliya," _He seems to be saying, but she can't find strength to ponder on it. Iliya can do nothing but just stare blankly at him, and she thinks she sees him frown and wrinkle his brows.

"Jon," She slurs out in a faint mutter, but even that seems too hard to do.

Suddenly, she's being lifted. Jon picks her up under her arms like one would a child - and she lets him. The cold air hits her bare skin, sending goosebumps along her flesh before warmth comes in the form of Jon's black cloak. She closes her eyes again when she feels even more heat, heat that's radiating from his chest as he cradles her to him tightly.

A rough hand on her face makes her open her eyes again, though her lids feel heavy. "... Iliya ..." He says, but it sounds as quiet as a whisper to her, and the last things she sees is Jon Snow's dark brown eyes before darkness takes over.

Jon Snow isn't sure if he's ever been more thankful for his restlessness. If he had been asleep, perhaps he wouldn't have heard the heavy falls of someone's boots. If he wasn't awake, he wouldn't have gone to see whether it was Stonetyde or not – but it had just been Iliya, turning around the corner just as he looked out. Gone to take a bath, most likely. He had settled back into bed for a short while, still unable to let sleep claim him, when he had a sudden thought.

If Stonetyde knows she is a girl, does that mean he also knows about her late night bathing habits? He had not wanted to take a chance on that, so he had gotten up and gone to investigate – and he was ever so glad he did. He had started down the hall to the bath house unsurely, because if there was no Stonetyde and just Iliya … he does not want to give her the wrong idea, even if the way his mind was starting to think begged to differ.

Stonetyde was there, though, bent over the tub – and the anger had started to build when he heard what he was saying, when he saw who he pulled up from the water. Jon had put an end to that rather quickly. As an afterthought, he's glad he left Ghost in his room; the direwolf would have probably attacked Stonetyde by now, and it would be easier to avoid suspicion if there weren't huge bite marks pointing directly to him.

"_I should kill you where you stand, scum." _He remembers saying, the sight of her hanging onto the tub with her eyes starting to roll around in her head spurring him on. He had made himself reign in his violent urges, though, and had gave an ultimatum.

"_I'll give you a choice. You request a transfer somewhere else – the Westwatch, Nightfort, I don't care where – as soon as morning comes," _Jon had shoved Stonetyde to the ground, holding him in place with his boot. "_Or I swear to you by all that is good, you'll wish you had when I push you off the Wall and tell everyone you slipped." _

That seemed to do the job. He had scampered out, leaving Jon with Iliya. As he carries her back to Hardin's Tower, he can still remember the way her wet tendrils of brown hair and clung to her face in disarray, still sees the look she had given him before she had passed out – like he wasn't even there. Her nudity does not even bother him as he's sure it would've on other circumstances.

He brings her to her room and lays her down gently, especially careful with her head. It's still leaking red onto his hands, and he curses and looks around for bandages. Thankfully, he finds some, though he presumes they're the ones Iliya uses to bind her chest.

Jon makes do with what he can find to wipe the blood away and wrap her head, and the bandages end up covering almost half of her face. Awkwardly, he takes her clothes he'd brought along on his way back with her, attempting to redress her. He's sure she'll be alright in a few days, maybe a week, but he'd rather he hadn't let anything happen at all.

"I'm sorry. I came too late." He frowns as he looks upon her.

Jon isn't certain how long he sits beside her body on the cot, but finally sleep comes, and he, too, knows no more.

* * *

><p>AN: Hm - after writing this chapter, I almost feel like it belongs in one of those cheesy romance novels with damsels in distress, etc etc... Bah! I hope you all liked it, despite that?

I'll start going back to the plot soon, I promise! I just figured I'd have more interaction happen.

Hopefully, I've kept Jon IC and everyone still likes Iliya...

I hope you all enjoyed reading! Please review and let me know what you think, I absolutely adore all of your opinions. :)


	9. nine

A/N: Thanks so much for all your reviews! This chapter is kinda short, but hopefully it covers some of what you lovely people have brought up in your reviews.

I feel like there is something else that needs to be said, but I can't think of it because I'm a scatterbrain... so... enjoy (though i feel a bit iffy about this chapter as per usual... specifically the end)!

I don't own ASOIAF or GOT.

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><p><strong>beyond here lies nothing<strong>

_chapter nine_

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><p>When Iliya wakes up, she feels like there's been a stampede of aurochs trampling on her head.<p>

She does not move, just slowly blinks. For a moment, she wonders how late or early it is; the sun is not shining into her small slit of a window, and everything sounds quiet. Disoriented, she tries to remember what had happened to her. She recalls her restlessness, going to bathe, and then – images flash through her mind. She sees Ayden, the blood swirling in the bathwater. Jon's face. She faintly remembers jumbled words, feels the warmth from Jon's heavy black cloak.

Iliya tries to raise her arm to lift a hand to her bandaged head, but there's a weight on it that prevents her from doing so. She lifts her head the smallest bit and peers down at her arm in confusion. How she had not noticed Jon Snow's mop of curly dark hair is beyond her, and she lays her head back down. It does little to reduce any pounding in her skull.

She feels guilty for relishing in the fact he is asleep beside her, and through the haze of her half-asleep mind, she wonders if this is a dream.

It hits her then that he's probably carried her up from the bath house, and her cheeks start feeling uncomfortably warm. _Wonderful, _she mentally groans. _This will be the second time Jon Snow has seen me as naked as I was on my first name day._

"Jon," She whispers, trying to focus on waking him up instead of thinking of what it would be like to wake up next to him in a different manner. When she doesn't receive an answer, she shakes her arm and speaks a little louder.

He abruptly shoots up. "Iliya," Jon starts, then seems to realize he's fallen asleep in her cot and stands. "I ... did not mean to disrespect you-"

"Please," Iliya mutters tiredly, "You've nothing to be sorry about." She closes her eyes.

"How is your head?"

"It will be fine. I'm sure," She says, grimacing despite herself. "And Ayden? What has..."

"... I'm certain he won't be here to bother you any longer."

She isn't expecting that reply, and though her eyes almost open in surprise, the light starting to filter in hurts her head. "What makes you certain of that?" This sounds too good to ever be true, and her first instinct is to disbelieve. "I don't know where he could have gone."

"He'll be moving to a different branch." Jon says simply, and something in his tone almost says that's the end of it. "I know you're in pain, but lift up your head." Eyes still closed, she does as he says and feels him unravel the bandages he's already put on. New ones wrap around in their stead.

_Could it be true? Could he really be gone? _Jon isn't one for lies, however, so she's more inclined to believe it. Still, she asks. "For true?"

"Yes," Comes the short, clipped answer. The strange tone in his voice makes her open her eyes and look at him.

He has an equally strange look in his eyes as he stares back, frowning. "What is it?" She asks.

"It's..." _If I had not been so late, you wouldn't have that wound. _Even worse, he wonders if she'd still be breathing if he had not woken up. But Jon doesn't quite want to tell her that he'd made a vow to himself to protect her – among other things that have dawned upon him - so he just clears his throat and looks away. "Are you sure your head is alright? Thorne will wonder if you're absent from training."

"I'll be fine," Iliya replies, but still gives him a long look. It's obvious to her that what's come out of his mouth is clearly not what he truly wanted to say. "I'd just like to rest some before we have to start the day, is all."

Jon nods, but he still stands there, looking almost lost. "I'll be fine," She repeats, stressing the _fine_.

"It's just..."

"What is it?"

"What's happened between you and Stonetyde," Jon says, glancing at his boots before back at her, "What will you do if..."

"Spit it out," Iliya mumbles wearily. Her head is still thrumming, and she's got a whole day of training and possibly watch duty later on. Sometimes she wishes he would just tell her what's on his mind – the way he seems so awkward trying to get the words out only serves to make her frustrated right now.

"... if you become with … child?"

Jon immediately looks like he wishes he could take back his question; she wonders if it's because of the sour look mingled with pain she can feel come to her face or from courtesy.

"A mother's life has never been an option for me," Iliya says stiffly. "I am ... barren."

That had also been one of the main reasons her old brothel had wanted to keep her. No worrying if bastard children would come about, no worrying about getting a hold of moon tea or tansy. When she had been examined and told that, she had been quite upset - but as time went on, she decided she would not want to bring a child into a world like this.

Iliya hadn't fancied the idea of having a child whose life would end up just like hers, the life of a bastard or a whore. She remembers thinking that while being upset about her circumstances, but that had been a long time before coming to the Wall was even a seed of a thought in her mind. She supposes now that it had been a blessing in disguise, but before, she had sometimes wondered what it would be like to hold a babe of her own flesh and blood in her arms.

"Forgive me. I..."

"Why should you apologize?" Iliya closes her eyes again. "You are too apologetic for your own good at times, Jon Snow," She sighs.

"I should not have pried."

_Stupid Jon Snow, _ she thinks. _You've done more than I could have ever asked from anyone, yet you're still so..._

"You did no such thing. You asked me a question, and I answered it." She tries to smile for him.

"Why do you cry, then?"

Sure enough, when she opens her eyes and touches her cheek, her fingers come away wet. She stares at the wetness on her fingertips, and Jon isn't sure if the smile on her face is sad or relieved. _Perhaps it's both, _he thinks.

"Because …" The way she feels is almost foreign to her – something she's only felt bits of these past few weeks, around Jon - but she's certain of what it is. "I am happy."

She stays that way, because sure enough – when she straggles out to the courtyard late to go break her fast, she does not see him sitting inside the hall, nor does she see him training. She feels like she's floating for the rest of the day; even Grenn mentions her uncharacteristic demeanor.

And she hasn't forgotten it's all because of Jon Snow – he's saved her life in more ways than one by now. She almost can't look at him, sometimes, because of the fluttery feeling she gets in her belly.

_He's helped you because you are a friend, Iliya, _she reminds herself more often than not. _It is nothing more, so stop this silliness and view him in the same manner._

But no matter how hard she's told herself this, she isn't sure how much longer she can keep denying it.

_Denying what? _Some traitorous part of herself urges, as if she could only reveal these feelings to herself, they would be true.

And that, the truth in what she cannot even admit to herself, scares her.

Everything is fine the next few days; peaceful, even, despite the faint throbbing that's lingering in her head. With training done and naught more to do, she decides to keep Jon and Sam company on the Wall.

"I miss girls," Sam moans. "Not even talking to them! I never talk to them... Just looking at them, hearing them giggle..."

_If only you knew, Sam, _she thinks. Sam steps up next to Jon, looking at him curiously. "Don't _you _miss girls?"

A part of her that is curious about that sort of side of Jon Snow wonders if he does. Iliya still recalls him talking of the woman, Ros, and she can't help the bit of jealousy that rises up. _He won't ever see you that way, Iliya. Why torture yourself?_

Iliya is not girlish in the ways that count, lacking in charm, and - _"She was gorgeous," _he had said.

_I am not gorgeous. My hair is not pretty and red, it's ratty and brown. And I doubt he much thinks my chest is perfect, either,_ she thinks scornfully. But it doesn't matter, she reminds herself with some difficulty. None of that matters, because … she can't even finish those mental words, and there's a faint, hurt pang in her heart.

But Jon does not even answer Sam while she's in her thoughts; she's only brought out of them when she hears Sam exclaim, "Riders! The horn, we have to blow the horn!"

"Why is he alone?" Jon mutters, squinting at the small, distant shape on the snowy land.

"Alone?" Iliya echoes, wishing the snow would stop blowing into her eyes so she could see.

"One blast for a ranger returning, two for wildlings, three for-"

"There's no rider," He realizes_. _A horse missing its rider could not be anything good, and they quickly head down the Wall.

Even Lord Commander Mormont is in the courtyard when they finally get down there. "That's my Uncle Benjen's horse," Jon states, and she can hear the distress in his voice clear as a bell. "Where's my uncle?" He asks Mormont.

He doesn't answer.

She does her best to cheer him up, but it barely works. He had told her before he is close with his uncle; Benjen Stark had never shunned him, and from what Jon had said of him, it would seem that the Stark bastard was his favorite.

And Jon, he can tell Iliya's putting forth her best efforts to relieve his worries, along with Sam and others. But even when he and Iliya train later in her room, he can't entirely focus on the matter at hand. She stops mid-swing, her sword arm lowering to her side.

"Jon," She frowns, "We don't have to train if you are not up to it. It's understandable."

As much as he wants to reassure her he's fine, he knows anything he says will come out less than believable. "I'm sorry, Iliya."

"What've I told you about apologizing so much?" She jokes, but the frown on his face does not go away. She sighs before sitting on her cot resting the sword against the stone wall. "Come, sit."

Jon sighs as well before acquiescing, his sword joining hers. "I've heard your uncle is a fine ranger. Perhaps he just..." She trails off.

He knows she does not know what could have happened to Benjen Stark. All the things he does think of are unsavory, and only serve to make the weight in his chest heavier. "You needn't try to cheer me up, Iliya."

"You'd have done it for me." She shakes her head. "You have."

Silence takes over the room, and he's lost in his thoughts until he feels a small hand on his knee. He looks at it, so pale against the black cloth, and a split second thought crosses his mind: _She may be a stronger woman than most, but she is still delicate. What if one day it is her horse that returns riderless?_

"Just think how happy he will be when he returns and you've become an official brother of the Night's Watch," She smiles, "We take our vows tomorrow."

"If he returns at all," He replies sullenly, and instantly feels ashamed of acting like a child in the light of her attempts to lift his spirits.

"Jon..." She whispers, sad for him.

The way he looks when he turns to her makes her feel terrible, even though she has nothing at all to do with Benjen Stark's disappearance. Iliya thinks that she'd do anything to make him smile in that lovely way that reaches his eyes again, but she feels once more like the whore she was – useless. All that he has done for her, and she cannot even return any of those favors.

_But even that girl I used to be would have been able to make him forget about his problems. _That thought leads to another, and before she knows it, she's got a hand curled around the back of his neck.

Jon is unaware of the what's running through her mind, and he's caught even more off guard when he feels her warm hand against the skin of his neck. He isn't sure what to expect when he looks back at her again – but the last thing he ever predicts is how she leans forward, and he feels the press of her lips against his. For a moment, the warmth that spreads through his body and the way her fingers tangle in his hair make him forget about his missing uncle, about the possibility his corpse is rotting somewhere beyond the Wall.

And not even before that moment is fully over does he pull away, eyes averted to the floor. "Iliya... you-" He swallows hard, trying to forget the feeling, the way the heat won't go away. "We cannot. You said it yourself, tomorrow we'll take our vows-"

"Tomorrow," Iliya agrees. "But right now is tonight, and no vows have been taken yet." She hesitates, then whispers. "I can help you forget, if only for a little while. You've helped me so many times, so - so please, let me return the favor."

How he's tempted to give in and gain some reprieve from this invisible shroud of worry and fear. It isn't as if Jon should worry about getting her with child - his fear of fathering a bastard child is unfounded with her. He's almost ready to just leave to remove himself from this situation he's found himself in, but her hand goes to his knee once more, the other reaching for his chin and turning his face to hers.

"Jon," She says - and if he's not dreaming all of this up - she sounds shy and softer than he's ever heard her. "Let me … let me help you."

And may the gods new and old help him, he does.

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><p>AN: Oh jeez. So I hope the end of this wasn't _too _OOC - I've tried establishing their attraction, etc.

For those of you that have read up to the third book, I figured it'd be important to put this in now before they go beyond the Wall and STUFF (Lord's Kiss lolol.) happens...

Hopefully if you just keep in mind how Iliya wants to help him as much as he has her, their attraction, and Jon giving into the temptation of not thinking of this thing that's bothering the crap out of him, it isn't TOO weird?

And as for not going much into Ayden - they'll have bigger shit to worry about soon (my lame excuse).

Yeah, I don't know, so that's why I'd like you guys to tell me in those beautiful reviews of yours!

So I hope you enjoyed reading it, and I'm dying to hear your thoughts on this chapter. :)


	10. ten

A/N: Thanks for reviewing, you guys. :)

**Imperial Dragon**: Yeah, I tried to make them have some sort of relationship where they depend on each other, even if it is for different things.

**Megan**: Thanks! I'm glad you think it's genuine and fitting, that's what I'm aiming for~

**ber1719**: Okay, I'll stop with that then, haha! It makes me happy that you get happy whenever I update, so thanks so much for continuing to read!

**libertine84**: I've never really written smut before, but if I get the guts to I'll try it (and raise the rating along with that, so you'll know)! Thanks for telling me I handled it well anyways!

**Gamine**: Thanks so much! I always love your reviews, they make me feel so special. :)

**Hope and love**: Yes... finally, haha~

**TheMaywat**: Thanks for telling me I've kept everyone in character, sometimes I feel like that's the hardest part. You've definitely got a good grip on this story as well, and hopefully I can keep you hooked!

Gonna say something about the rest of this story at the A/N at the end, so if you could just take the time to look at it afterwards, that'd be awesome! Please enjoy.

I don't own GOT or ASOIAF.

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><p><strong>beyond here lies nothing<strong>

_chapter ten_

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><p>He wakes up in the middle of the night with something warm nestled into his side.<p>

It's still dark out, but once his eyes adjust, he realizes it's not some_thing_ but some_one. _All he can see is Iliya's shaggy mop of brown hair and a small hand laid against his bare chest, and his first thought is: _What have I done? _The second thought that comes to him is, _What would my lord father think? _

Here he is at the Wall on the day of his vows, with a missing uncle, and he's managed to bed – or maybe it's_ get himself bedded_ – by a girl disguised as a boy. A small part of him thinks he's broken a dam inside of himself; a leak will spring, slowly but surely, now that he's had this small comfort, this feeling he's never felt before.

But when he looks down again at her, he corrects himself. This was no small act of anything for Iliya Waters. When he recalls what she's told him about her past, he wonders how much he must mean to her to let those walls down, the same ones she had sworn to build higher and higher.

Still lost in sleep, she nudges closer to him. Her breath is warm on his chest, and he finds himself turning towards her, wrapping an arm around her and bringing her closer. Her only response is to let out a little noise in her sleep, her hands folding themselves between them. This feels like a guilty pleasure, like he's treading on thin ice over some bottomless lake. He can still feel a phantom sensation of her skin underneath his fingertips, hear the echoes of her calling out his name, and it does nothing to alleviate that feeling. But Jon, instead, just tells himself, _It's just for tonight_.

Just for right now, they have no vows to take; he isn't a bastard, she isn't a runaway whore pretending to be a boy. Curled into each other, they're just a man and woman – and with this thought settling uneasily in his mind, he drifts back to sleep.

The air feels colder than it had yet,_ he thinks to himself as he makes his way to the courtyard. He wonders where Iliya is; she hadn't been with the others while they broke their fast, and he has half a mind to check and see if she's still asleep. _

_When he reaches the yard, he sees a large black circle; all of his brothers are facing inwards towards something, though he cannot tell what exactly. Jon pushes his way through his brothers and gets the answer to his question. Iliya is in the middle of the circle, holding tatters of her black fur trimmed cloak around her._

_There's tear tracks on her face, shining in the early morning sun. She's naked save for that, and he wants to go up to her, to take his own cloak and wrap it around her – but his feet won't move. She's been found out somehow, and he has to do something, because it's _Iliya_ and he's told himself he wouldn't let this happen._

_Hoots and howls and lewd words are being tossed around, and he can feel something terrible boil up inside of him at the sound of the leers. Move, he thinks, _move –_ but there might as well be ice growing around his legs, cold and sturdy, and he cannot break it. _

_Finally, the rest of the men close in on her, and he hears a wail. The cry sounds even more horrid by the fact it's Iliya's. Her cloak is ripped from her, thrown away, and its dark tatters land in front of his immobile feet. Glancing up from it, his eyes meet hers through a crack in the circle._

"_I thought you'd protect me, Jon," Her voice trembles, but it rings loud and clear despite the hollering of the men. Her light brown eyes are wet and glossy, and it's the last thing of her he can see before they close in. She says, "Why won't you help me? Why, Jon?"_

"_Jon?"_

"_Jon?"_

"Jon?"

He shoots straight up, heart thumping so hard it almost hurts. He looks around almost frantically, and is relieved to see he's still in Iliya's room. The sun is only starting to rise, leaving a dim, dusky blue glow to shine through the window slit.

_It was a dream. _He swallows, looking up at her where she stands peering down at him, already dressed, and pulls her to him. Jon ignores her noise of surprise and thinks to himself over and over: _It was just a dream. It was just a dream. _

"Jon?" He hears her ask against his chest hesitantly. "Are you … are you well? When you were sleeping, you seemed as if-"

"Iliya," He cuts her off, letting go of the hold to grab her by the shoulders. Looking straight into her eyes, he tells her, "You still have a chance to leave. Before you take the vows, you can leave. They'll look for Ily, not Iliya. You'll be safe."

She wrestles out of his grip, frowning at him with wrinkled brows. "Jon, I'm not leaving. I won't. I've earned my place here just as much as any man, have I not?"

The image from his dream, of her being swallowed up by black, makes him pause before answering. Shoving down the sickening feeling he gets from remembering, he swings his legs out of the cot. "You have, but..."

"I'll be fine, Jon. I promise."

_You can't promise me anything, Iliya. I cannot even promise myself I can keep you safe._

But he does not say this aloud, because he can hear that tone in her voice that signals if he says anything else along the same vein it will be perceived as some sort of insult to her.

In the silence that follows, Iliya suddenly feels awkward. She isn't sure if it's because of his concern, because she should damn well be used to that by now – or if it's because when she looks at him, the night repeats itself in her head. She resists the urge to grab his rough, but gentle hands if only to feel them before she has to go outside and become Ily, and she is the one that puts her hands on his shoulders this time.

"If I leave now, what would all this have been for? What would I do, and where would I go? There is nowhere else for me. You, of all people, should know that."

And though Jon can still picture the terror in her honey colored eyes as easily as he looks upon them now, whispering, _"I thought you'd protect me, Jon," _he wills it away before he impulsively takes her face in his hands. Her face goes red at the sudden touch, as if they didn't lay together last night, and he brushes a thumb against the small mark underneath her eye.

"Do not break that promise, Iliya."

* * *

><p>"... You came to us as outlaws. Poachers. Rapers, killers, thieves. You came alone, in chains, without friends or honor. You came to us rich, and you came to us poor. Some of you bear the names of proud houses. Others, only bastard names or no names at all. It does not matter." Lord Commander Mormont's bellows seem to echo through the quiet courtyard, and they all sit silently listening. "All that is in the past. Here, on the Wall, we are all one house. Tonight..."<p>

"You're allowed to look happy," Sam whispers to Jon, who is sitting in between the larger man and Iliya. "You're going to be a ranger. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"I want to find my uncle," Jon mutters under his breath. _Among other things that trouble me. _"I know he's alive out there. I know he is."

"He could return any day," Iliya chimes in quietly.

"I wish I could help you," Sam shakes his head, "But I'm no ranger. It's the steward's life for me..."

Iliya doesn't hear the rest of what Sam says, because she's too busy looking at the smile that comes on Jon's face from whatever is said. She tears her eyes away and takes a deep breath, returning her gaze to Mormont. _Stop acting like a silly, smitten child, Iliya._

"... Here, you begin anew," Mormont goes on before coming down the stairs. "A man of the Night's Watch lives his life for the realm. Not for a King, for a Lord, for the honor of this house, or that house. Not for gold or glory, or a woman's love."

Those last two words make Jon tense up the slightest bit, and he hopes no one sees. _What happened last night can never happen again, _he tells himself sternly. _It was just for last night. _He knows he should've said something to her that morning, but he'd been so relieved to see her safe and in one piece when he woke up that he couldn't have said the words if his life depended on it.

"But for the realm, and all the people in it!" Mormont looks over them. "You've all learnt the words in your vow. Think carefully before you say them. The penalty for desertion is death. You can take your vows here, tonight. Sunset. Do any of you still keep the old gods?"

"I do, m'lord," Jon stands up, and everyone turns to look at him.

"Do you want to take your vow before a heart tree, as your uncle did?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"You'll find a weirwood a mile north of the Wall, and your old gods, too, maybe."

"My lord," Sam stands, "Might I go as well?"

"And I too, my lord," Iliya stands also.

Mormont looks at her briefly, and she thinks his gaze passes over her because it doesn't matter so much for her since she is a bastard. His eyes move to Sam. "Does House Tarly keep the old gods?"

"No, my lord," Sam shakes his head. Iliya is almost surprised he's stood up in front of everyone, but she thinks it's probably because of Jon's influence. It seems to her that it is a powerful thing, because it is not only Samwell Tarly that is affected by it. "I was named in the light of the Seven. My father was, and his father before him.

"Why would you forsake the gods of your father and your house?" Ser Alliser sneers from upon the stairs, voice condescending.

"The Night's Watch is my house now," Sam answers after a short pause. "The Seven have never answered my prayers … perhaps the old gods will." Ser Alliser, for once, has nothing to say back.

"As you wish," Mormont nods. "You've all been assigned an order according to our needs and your strengths," He says, unrolling the parchment in his hands. "... Pyp to the stewards, Toad to the builders, Grenn to the rangers. Samwell to the stewards, Ily to the rangers..."

Jon smiles at Iliya and nods, before Mormont's voice calls him. "Jon, to the stewards..."

All at once, they look to each other in confusion. Iliya doesn't know how it's possible for _her _to be named a ranger while _Jon _is sent to the stewards. Jon looks up, and when Iliya follows his gaze, she sees a tiny smirk curling the corners of Ser Alliser's mouth. Iliya can practically feel the anger seething off of Jon in waves.

A call comes, "Rangers, with me." Iliya slowly gets up, looking unsurely at Jon before she and Grenn move to follow.

Later, when they leave to take their vows, she notices Jon seems to be in slightly higher spirits. Slowing her pace next to Sam, she nudges him. "Is Jon … is he alright?"

"I think he will be," Sam nods. "The Lord Commander must have chosen him for a reason, if you get my meaning. I don't know why else someone as good as him would be a steward..."

Iliya thinks he's probably right. She cannot think of any other reason why she should be a ranger and he shouldn't, other than the idea that Mormont is taking him under his wing.

"Me, I'm just happy to be a steward," Sam sighs, trudging heavily through the snow. Iliya has to agree; Sam is no fighter, and for almost being sent here against his will, it's probably the best thing he could've asked for.

"Then I'm happy for you, Sam." She smiles at him before moving up next to Jon.

"What sort of gods did you pray to?" He asks her.

"None," She replies, clutching her cloak tighter with one hand. "Well, I used to. Pray to the old gods, that is. But Sam's got it right, it would seem, because they've never answered my prayers, either. I am here because of myself." Iliya sighs. "However, I'm willing to put some faith in these gods of yours."

"Then maybe my gods can answer them," Jon tells her, but inside he thinks, _Maybe they can make me forget what you feel like._

* * *

><p>The tree was an eerie looking thing to Iliya, though she doesn't say such. The three of them kneel before it, the snow falling even harder.<p>

"Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realm of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all nights to come."

"You knelt as boys," One of the brothers behind them states. "Rise now as men of the Night's Watch."

She and Jon stand, each grabbing one of Sam's arms when he has difficulty getting up. A moment passes where they all look to each other, and then all three of them are in an embrace, Iliya laughing when she gets squeezed in the middle of it.

Iliya cannot believe she's done it; she's become a member of the Night's Watch, and surely that has to count for something. For the second time since the incident in the bath house, she feels like she's finally, finally free from her past. Free from the brothel. "Thank you, Jon. I couldn't have done it without your help," She whispers to him in the midst of the hug, and he simply smiles at her in that way she likes so much.

The brothers begin to give them congratulations, and Ghost finally comes from out of the woods he's been exploring. They look to see something in the white direwolf's mouth, and a feeling a dread blankets the happiness that was there only a moment ago.

"To me, Ghost," Jon kneels, "Bring it here." Obedient as ever, Ghost trots up before dropping something before him; it's a hand, severed up to the forearm.

"Gods be good!" Sam exclaims from behind them, and Iliya's eyes widen as they stare upon it.

They return to the Wall to inform the Lord Commander, and then they're all quickly sent back out to try and retrieve whatever bodies there are. "Your uncle was First Ranger. I don't think he will have perished so easily," Iliya tries to assure Jon, as they trudge through the snow.

And she is hopefully right, because they do find bodies – but none of them are Benjen Stark's. However, they're his fellow rangers, the ones under his command, and she knows Jon's probably in turmoil at the thought. _Maybe it would be less cruel for him to find his Uncle's corpse. At least then, he won't have to wonder._ Once they bring the bodies back to the Wall, Mormont meets them as they pull in the corpses. Other brothers begin to crowd around as well.

"It's Ortho, without a doubt," Mormont notes of the larger corpse, the bald one.

"The other one's Jaffer Flowers, m'lord. That's the hand the wolf tore off."

"Any sign of Benjen or the rest of his party?" They give the Lord Commander a solemn shake of their heads.

"Just these two, m'lord," Jon murmurs. "Been dead a while, I'd say."

"The smell," Sam says out of nowhere.

"What smell?"

"There is none. If they've been dead for a long time, wouldn't there be rot?"

"We should burn them," Jon states, staring down at the corpses.

"I agree," Iliya adds.

"Snow's not wrong, m'lord," One of the older brother's says. "Fire will do for them. The wildling way." He nods.

"I want Maester Aemon to examine them first." Mormont eyes Sam. "You may be a coward, Tarly, but you're not stupid."

Satisfied with that, Sam nods a bit and smiles to himself. Iliya can't help but think the whole thing is strange. Something doesn't feel right, and judging by the looks on everyone's faces, they feel it as well.

"Get them inside." Mormont orders, before he's called away to meet with Maester Aemon about a raven from King's Landing.

* * *

><p>Some time passes before Jon is called up as well, and when he returns, he's even more upset than she's ever seen him.<p>

"What troubles you?" Iliya asks, taking a hold of his arm as he storms down the stairs.

"It's nothing of import," Jon almost spits out.

"Well, it must be. You can talk to me, you know-"

"What good will talking to you do?" Jon asks, frustrated. His uncle is missing, his father's been accused of treason – and the gods only knew what would become of Arya and Sansa. "All you will do is give me empty reassurances. I don't want them," Jon growls out, leaving her standing in the middle of the yard.

Eyes wide at his demeanor, she watches his back as he stalks away. "Jon..." She whispers, but the the wind and snow steal away the sound.

* * *

><p>AN: Ohhh, pissy Jon. Well, we know he can get like that (as we've all seen when he gets chosen for the stewards). And as for the important note, I've pretty much decided what to do for the rest of this story.

**Important stuff I'd like to tell you all**:

I'll be nearing the end of Season 1 soon, and I'm almost certain I'm going to keep following through from the events in the books in order to keep things as true to the original plot as I can. Hopefully no one minds that, though there will be spoilers. And if you have read the books and know of Ygritte, I'm not planning on getting rid of her or anything...

**Not so important stuff I'd like to ask and really want opinions for**:

And on a totally different note, how would you guys feel if I made a **Theon/OC **story at some point? I know most people see Theon as a douche, but his character interests me. Yay? Nay? Let me know, because if people would actually read it, I'd definitely write something.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Hopefully it wasn't boring!

Please review, you guys are awesome with that! (And I really am serious about the Theon/OC thing, so opinions on that are most definitely welcomed!)


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